


Golden Hour

by majorwhit



Series: Golden Hour [1]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cowboy Jasper, Designer Alice, F/M, HumanAU, Jalice, Romance, Slow Burn, alice x jasper, twilightau
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-07-25 19:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorwhit/pseuds/majorwhit
Summary: After the death of his father, young Jasper Whitlock is left in charge of Whitlock Ranch, located in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Newly labelled, New York designer Alice Cullen is struggling to market her first line. When Alice arrives for a week at the ranch to shoot her look book, the two must find a way to work together.AU:AHCW: anxiety, panic, loss, PTSD, alcohol use.





	1. Bourbon & Bellbottoms

** _CHAPTER ONE_ **

* * *

_The day that I met you, I started dreaming .  
(Kingston, Faye Webster)_

* * *

_SUNDAY_  
**ALICE**

Our van rocks to a stop against the thick, gravel road we've been riding along. It seems a relief, at first, but then I glance out the tinted window to see _exactly_ where we're being let off. All around us are fields — for as far as the eye can see — grass, grass, and more grass. Dotting the area are the thick, black bodies of cows, standing still as statues. _Maybe they are statues - __like the charging bull that sits at the foot of Wall Street, _I think. There's literally nothing else. No buildings, no trees, not even a cloud in the sky. Something moves in the distance, faster than I expect to see. I furiously try and follow the movement, craning my neck to see past the limits of my stupid little window. It was a horse, I think. Topped by a human.

_We're not in SOHO anymore._

"Alright, ladies, welcome t' Whitlock Ranch," our bus driver announces, the rattle of the machine's engine silenced with a turn of his keys.

I glance at our photographer — the one man in a group full of women — and I shoot him a sympathetic smile. He offers the same in return and I can see — I know clear as day — that he's not even _aware _he's been misgendered. James is preoccupied with our surroundings, face twisted with uncertainty. _I know_, I want to say, _I know_. _This level of middle-of-nowhere is not what we were expecting_. I can't fake enthusiasm with James, but for the girls I know I'll have to.

I suck in a breath, the hot, dry air uncomfortable in my lungs. I try again, but my chest never fills. Texas is already getting the better of me, and I haven't even stepped off the van. Instead of letting myself fall deeper into my anxiety, I stand tall. I smile. I look over my group of six _perfectly_ chosen models and mentally prepare to play mother for the next week.

"Okay," I say, moving out from my seat at the front of the van. I wiggle my way into the aisle, keeping that too big smile on my face all the while. _I'm sure they can all see right through me._

"So, here we are!" I say, echoing the driver's point from only a minute before. "I know we're all excited to be out of the city," I lie, "but we're here to work. To be respectful. To get these looks shot and get back to New York before too much _country_ rubs off on us," I joke. _Mostly_. Laughter trickles through the van. I lift my face into that smile again, adding my own chuckle for good measure.

Behind me, the bus driver clears his throat, indicating not-so-subtly that he needs me to move it along. My hand flies to the top of my head in a nervous, desperate attempt to fix the mess that was once a ponytail. I run through my practiced speech as fast as I can. "So, uh, it'll be two to a room in the cabins, and James — you've got a room to yourself. Days start at eight am sharp. No wiggle room, no sleeping in, no _vacationing_." For good measure, I stare the girls down and add, "**_no cowboys_**. _Got it_? We've got a lot to do." I actually manage to sound authoritative. I raise a stern eyebrow for good measure, watching as seven heads nod back at me in return.

Then my face explodes into the first _genuine_ smile I've had in days. This is it. Finally. After years of endless, back-breaking work, I'm here. I'm shooting my _own damn line_. Excitement courses through me. Everything inch of my body is alive, aware, ready to get outside despite our extremely rural locale. My excitement pushes past my lips, coming out as an enthusiastic, "Okay then — let's get going!"

I'm off the van before anyone else.

One foot on the ground, and my newly found excitement dwindles. My white sneakers — brand spankin' new — are already turning beige. The ground around us is no longer made of pebbles, but sand? Dirt? Beige. Just _beige_. Each gust of wind stirs the beige up around me. It sits on leggings, my skin, my hair. I feel dirty before having even lifted a finger. _Calm, Alice. Calm. It's just dirt_. _If you can't handle that, it's going to be a_ very_ long week. _I force my eyes away from the ground and up, to take in the sprawling estate I'd missed from inside the van.

_Oh, thank God. It's beautiful._

The house is grand. It's built of stone and logs, with an unbelievably colourful garden curling around its exterior. Something about how the home is settled into the ground seems ancient — like maybe the building just formed out of the earth once, just the same as the rest of this nowhere place. Smaller cabins lie in the distance, along with never-ending lines of log fencing. It's breathtaking, really. The sky is bluer than I've ever seen, stretched for miles above the horizon line without another house, building or _plane_ in sight.

My phone is buzzing incessantly in my pocket, my laptop sits heavy in my purse, and still — _still_ — part of me wonders if I've fallen back in time.

"Guys, look!"

It's Kate — one of my models. I turn in the direction of her bubbly voice, seeing that she's pointing towards a field on the left of the property. It's fenced in just the same — with old, cylindrical logs — but standing only feet away are a group of real,_ living, breathing horses_. I can't remember the last time I saw one so close. Not since I was a kid, most likely. The rest of the girls swarm over, phones out to capture a picture of the animals. Truthfully, I can't blame them for being so excited. _We've been stuck in the concrete jungle far too long_. Usually I'd join them, capturing the day for the sake of social media, but I don't. I'm supposed to be in charge. I'm the grown up. _I'm the example_. It sounds ridiculous — _I'm likely the youngest of the bunch_. Still, I know the girls will follow my lead. If I act professionally, they will follow suit.

Someone comes up beside me, breaking my reverie. I look over to see James towering above me, wearing his usual cocky smile. He's got his camera bag slung over one shoulder, his backpack over the other.

"They're going to spook them," James says, his words meant only for me. He juts his chin out towards our models.

"The horses?" I clarify, brows furrowing.

"_The ranchers_," James shoots back.

I laugh a little too loud. James is smiling like an idiot beside me. We both know he's right. The group of women we've brought along are all intelligent, beautiful, compassionate souls. They're also boisterous. Spoiled. Angels sent down from high-fashion heaven. They seem completely out of place here in Butt-fuck, Texas. It's the exact juxtaposition I want, but I'm not sure the ranch hands will be just as pleased.

Still, I argue, "could be a good change of pace for them. _And for us_," I add.

Cynical James begins to grumble again, but I'm not paying attention.

There is a pair of men approaching us, from down towards the house. I can hear their voices, both deep and booming like they've _never been indoors_ and rich with southern twang. They must be our hosts. One of them is noticeably taller, but other than that, the men look identical. Boots, Wranglers, brown belts, and plaid shirts up top. Both of them are wearing cowboy hats, like - real, unironic, _cowboy hats_. Idly, I wonder if this is a ranch-wide uniform, or Texas' idea of a _look_.

I turn myself fully around, and lift a hand to block the low hanging, deep gold sun. Standing like this, I can make them out a little better. One is blonde, one is brunet. They're both obviously built for manual labour, and as they grow nearer I can tell they sport even, matching tans. Something churns deep in my gut. These men are unmistakably beautiful, unlike anyone I'd come across in dreary New York.

The brunet approaching our group copies my actions, hand lifting into the air. To my complete embarrassment I realize he's waving wildly at_ me_. My face runs hot with blush, my hand falling fast out of the air. I've been caught staring. _Great first impression_.

"Howdy!" The brunet man shouts. He's the shorter of the two, but makes up for it in muscle. He's striking, even after adjusting to the impossible blueness of his eyes. I have to smile when he does, like my mouth has been tugged upwards by some invisible, charismatic string. I'm charmed — and frankly, surprised to hear someone say _howdy_ in real life.

Once they're close enough, I reply with a quick (and much less enthusiastic) _hello_.

The blonde stays behind while the other saunters forward. With one hand, he moves to remove his hat, and with the other, the man reaches out to me. "Peter," he introduces.

I take a nervous step forward and offer my hand in return. It disappears in his thick, meaty paw. I force another smile on my face. This one through gritted teeth. His _hello_ might just translate to my broken bones. "Alice," I manage to respond. "You must be the _Peter _I've been e-mailing with."

"Yes ma'am," Peter replies, his thick lips still locked in a grin. "The very same. Welcome to Whitlock Ranch."

"Thanks."

Behind me, the girls are a flutter. I can hear them mumbling amongst themselves, loud enough that I make out the word _attractive_ from ten feet away. What they don't see is the tarnished gold ring on his left hand. I'd shoot them a glare if it wouldn't draw _more_ attention to their behaviour. Instead, I give a hard clear of my throat and continue speaking, a little louder this time.

"This is James," I introduce, using my free hand to motion the photographer over. Peter lets me go and I flex my fingers out, glad for the relief. They shake hands and share niceties, and cynical James starts smiling, too. Peter's won him over.

" 'N this man over here is _Whit_," Peter proudly states. He glances over his shoulder at the blonde man, who _finally_ decides to join our interaction.

"_Jasper_," the man corrects. His voice is soft now. _Even_. Like slow, dripping honey. Nothing like the booming bark I heard only minutes before. "_Whitlock_."

My eyes pull away from beautiful, beautiful Peter. The very same Peter who now seems _dull_ in comparison to the human before me.

Jasper is tall. Lean. His hair is too long and wavy, caked in mud and in good need of a brush. His face is splattered with the same dirt, like freckles running from cheek to cheek. The man's nose is a hard, straight line, placed evenly between two round, warm hazel eyes. With the sun setting directly behind his figure, casting a halo of bright orange around him, Jasper looks as though he is made of the very same stuff. Fire. Light. _Power_.

I'm more than content drinking this _Apollo _in, but for the second time since our arrival I've been caught staring. Peter is chuckling. I glance away from Jasper's face to notice the hand he'd been holding out to me. I must be red from head to toe.

"Sorry," I stammer, hurriedly shoving my hand into his. I breathe out a laugh, racking my brain for any excuse. "Just — you said Whitlock? Like —"

"Like the ranch," Jasper replies, sounding _almost_ annoyed by the attention. In that good, honey voice, Jasper drawls, "so don't let Peter here trick you into thinkin' he's in charge of _anythin_'. Y'all have any issues and I want you coming to _me_."

Any confidence I had in my leadership skills has evaporated. Jasper knows how to command a room unlike any man I've ever known. He speaks and I'm dumb, focusing all too hard on the satisfying hum of his voice. With that drawl and that presence, the man could _easily_ be a politician. After a good bath, that is. _Then he'd certainly have my vote_.

As _bright_ as Jasper is, I feel sadness oozing from his every pore. It washes over me, overwhelmingly dense and impossible to avoid. The longer I hold his hand, the longer I stare into those golden eyes, I sink further and further into waves of his despair. I have to drop him like a hot iron.

"Thank you," I say, making myself busy with fixing my hair.

Jasper moves without speaking, heading past me to greet the van driver. He and Peter begin to unload suitcases, and James hurries in to join them. I feel obligated to do something, so I join in, trying to tug a case out from the back.

Peter comes up behind me, two big hands taking hold of the luggage and easily hoisting it out. "_Now_," he chastises, "you ain't half as big as a minute. Let me get that for you."

James laughs. Much to my dismay, so do the girls. I go red from head to toe, suddenly _too aware_ of my short stature and bony arms. _There it goes — my _**_one _**_molecule of confidence_. I'm too small — too bug-eyed, too delicate, too shapeless — to be seen as anything but a child. I don't need the reminder. The half-dozen _Amazonian_ models beside me don't need reminded, either. My appearance certainly doesn't breathe an air of authority.

I brush it off as _southern hospitality_, and patiently wait until one of the men bring me my belongings. How very _modern_ of us all.

When everything is unloaded, the van takes off in a cloud of dust. We each take a bag and make way towards the main house. Peter begins a long-winded history of the estate, his voice weighted with pride.

"Now I been workin' here since I was fourteen, but this place has been 'round since the eighteen — "

" — _Eighteen-forty-four_," Jasper interrupts. "My great granddaddy built this place with his bare hands, from the foundation up. Laid every fence post in our first hundred acres. Been workin' just the same since then, with a few modern updates, I guess."

"Electric light, indoor plumbing, _WIFI_," Peter adds. His tone has Jasper smiling again. The rest of us collectively sigh in relief.

I'm charmed by their back-and-forth. The way they talk, the way they walk — it's like they're brothers, not co-workers. Jasper and Peter are two halves of the same whole.

The tour we receive only includes the immediate area surrounding the house. We're shown pastures, an older, red-painted barn, and the stables. We eventually land on the expansive wooden porch, where we're able to walk around to the back of the house. Out in the distance, Peter points out the settlement of cabins I saw before, maybe a five minute walk down the plain. There are five of them — one for James, three for the girls, one for me. He explains that off to the right, following a wide, dirt path, is where the cattle graze. Where the cowboys live, too. To the left are wide open fields dotted with wildflowers, blooming as far as the eye can see. A ridge of mountains interrupts the space where green meets sky. I wonder if Jasper's property could possibly stretch that far.

"Down there's the swimmin' hole and the fire pit, but both are uh, out of commission for now."

I raise a brow in question.

Luckily one of my models — Carmen — asks the question before I have to. "Why?"

"_Drought_," Jasper replies. He turns away from the view to face us, expression turned stern. "It's been dry 'round here for weeks now. One little spark could take this whole place down. So please — just keep the lighters in your pocket, if you can. 'N if you really gotta smoke, no butts on the ground."

_That's sure to ruffle some feathers_.

We're led down the stairs attached to the back of the porch. Suitcase wheels knock the wood with a cacophony of loud thumps. It makes my skin crawl. Any noise that's not fully natural — the breeze, the sound of horses braying in the distance — sounds twenty times as loud here.

The sun beats hard down on the back of my neck. I lift the bag I'm holding up onto my shoulder and reach up, pulling my choppy hair out of its ponytail. It'll make me hot, I know, but at least I won't spend the week with a dark red patch on my neck.

I swear it — the world is closer to the sun in this place. _Technically it is, I know that, _but just a few hours further south and the difference in environment is astonishing. The hottest day in a New York summer couldn't even dream of being this bright. Or dry._ Or hot_._ Maybe the drought's got something to do with it._

The models have started to relax into their surroundings, vigorously chatting with each other and our hosts. One of them asks about trail rides — another is going on about getting a tan. James has taken lead with the men up front. There's even a _smile_ on his face.

I unclench my jaw. Drop my shoulders. _This going to be a good week,_ I tell myself. _Look at how _**_relaxed_**_ they all are_. _Maybe we all just needed a little nature._

Group by group, we're shown to our lodgings.

James goes first. His cabin is closest to the main house, but not by much. The building is a perfect square, and when Peter opens the door, I see that it looks just about the same on the inside. There's a bed, a chair, a desk, a rug, and a window. Not much else. There's a door off to one side, which I assume is a bathroom. James harrumphs in gratitude, immediately dropping his bags of camera equipment on the long, quilted twin bed. He follows along as we head for the girl's cabins.

Theirs look much the same as James', but are fitted with bunk beds. The girls' reactions range from excited to mortified, but** _I_** might be the most excited of the bunch. I wonder if my cabin has them too. _I hope it does_. Ever since I was a kid, the only material thing I've ever really _wanted_ was a bunk of my own.

_I'm shit out of luck_. I mean — I should be grateful — my cabin is the largest of the group, fitted with a double bed and a couch, and a table with chairs off to the side. There are two windows, and light pours in heavy. It'll do just fine. Still — no _bunk beds._

Everyone has dissipated except for James, Peter, and Jasper. I turn around to find them lined in a row, wearing similar nonchalant smiles. Suddenly I feel like I'm on a very southern season of the Bachelorette. "It's great," I say, "thank you guys again for everything." _I'm sorry, Peter. No rose for you, today. I just can't get over that ring._ _James, Jasper — we'll see you next week for the one-on-ones. _It's hard not to laugh.

They all start to talk at once.

"No problem —"

"I'm glad you like —"

"What time did you —"

_Dear God._

"I'm just going to get my stuff settled away and we'll all meet up to figure out dinner, okay?" I say, chuckling despite how hard I try not to. "Do you guys have any suggestions for where we should go?" I ask, turning my attention to the ranch hands. I flash them a toothy grin.

"I think I do, ma'am," Jasper answers, face pulling exploding into a devilish smile.

_... Ma'am?_

Dinner is unconventional. We're invited to '_grub in the mess hall with the boys' _for our first night, which ends up being a rather accurate depiction of eating any kind of meal with a dozen honest-to-God cowboys. It's grub, not food. It's less a mess hall and more a _mess_. The cowboys? Rowdy _boys_. The whole lot of them. I still manage to have more fun than I can fit on a plate.

Jasper never shows up to dinner, which I find odd. But Peter does, and much to my delight so does his _wife_. The woman — Charlotte — must be a saint. This place is her home too, I learn. Her and Peter live in a home right on the edge of the property and work alongside Jasper to keep the estate afloat. She smiles nonstop, despite biting, often sexist comments from the cowboys and eight extra mouths to feed. I aspire to be that giving. That _calm_.

We play darts and drink bourbon with the cowboys. James beats my ass again and again and again, until I have to convince myself to retire for the night. A person can only lose so much in one day. I stumble all the way back from the mess hall, my only guide the porch light from the big, main house. _Jasper's house_.

Back in my cabin, I'm finally able to relax and digest the day that's just unfolded. It's only eleven, but the sky is pitch black. The world has gone silent. Twelve hours ago I was still packing a suitcase in my New York studio apartment. Twelve hours ago I didn't know that silence this _complete_ even existed. I breathe in deep. The air tastes like dust and wood and is thick with humidity, but unlike this afternoon I can actually swallow it down.

I think I could get used to Texas.

I'm lulled by the night, slow in my actions as I pull out everything I'll need for the next day. I settle on an outfit for myself and lay out everything I've got for the girls. Seeing my clothes — my designs come to life — spread out across the rustic little room, it all feels_ too real_. My chest constricts. Tomorrow is the start of my career. My dream. The only thing I've ever wanted. **_I could cry_**. Instead of doing that, I shoot out a few texts. One to my parents, one to my brother, and one to Bella. I let them know that I'm safe and settled, and promise to send pictures once I'm done with our first shoot day tomorrow. Bella is the only one to respond. I'm not surprised. It's already after midnight in New York.

_Go get em :) we're all cheering for you Al._

I hug my phone to my chest. Bella has always been on my side. Even when my idiot brother - her idiot boyfriend - acts like an idiot.

I've had an idea floating around in my head all day, one I want to try and get down on paper before the tired takes over. I pull out some paper and stretch out on my bed. I sketch furiously under lamp light, charcoal chipping off on the page. First, I work out the curve of hips, then the long lengths of thighs and calves. Once I've got a basic figure down, I start to design overtop, detailing something classic — blue jeans. Bell bottoms.

Now that I'm reclined in bed, I realize how exhausted I really am. It's been a crazy long day, and the cool night air is just strong enough to breathe white noise all around me. I relax against the pillows I've been given. _Goodness, they're comfortable_.

...

_I'm standing in a wide, open field. The sky above me is dark purple, churning with an angry storm. I know it's going to rain. I can feel it, like an electric current licking through the air. Thunder rolls, the echo reverberating in my bones. My clothes stick to my skin. Everything is damp - even the dead grass surrounding me._

_When the rain finally starts, it's unrelenting. Water smacks the ground, knocking mud up with every plunk, plunk, plunk._

_I start running._

_The rain comes down harder now._

_Harder._

_I must be underwater. I'm drowning. I can't open my eyes against the onslaught of water. I can't part my lips without rain invading my mouth. My body is drenched. My shoes are heavy. I can't run anymore._

_There's nowhere to hide._

_The downpour continues unrelentlessly. I've never been so cold. I hug myself tightly, trying to contain any warmth that might still exist inside, and abandon any hope in finding comfort._

_All that I know is drip, drip -_

**Drip.**

My eyes peel open. A single, weighty drop of water splashes against my face. Then another. And another. Thunder sounds in the distance, sharpening the edges of my consciousness. Now I'm _wide awake._

The roof of the cabin creaks above me. Then, without any warning, _it gives_.


	2. A Good Drought

** _CHAPTER TWO  
_ **

* * *

_In the middle of the streets of Eden,  
__the four winds blow.  
__I've been living underneath the shadow,  
__of my father's soul -  
__here and gone.  
__I'm here and gone._  
Ain't it funny how the road that made you  
you can't outrun?  
Ain't it funny how the place that saves you  
will burn you up?

(Here & Gone, Mississippi Twilight)

* * *

_MONDAY_  
**JASPER**

The paperwork never ends. It takes up all the evenin' I should be spendin' out in the fields, closing the ranch down for the night with the rest of my men. That's my job. That's my _**duty**_. Not this — not monotonous, never-ending bureaucracy. This was Dad's work. Or Rose's, in a pinch. Never me. I'm a _horse trainer_ by trade, not some big-wig lawyer. I don't even know what half these words mean.

By the end of the tenth page my left hand has totally cramped, but I still got an inch high stack of documents to go through. I drop my pen on the table, stretching out long, angry fingers. I can't sign my name one more Goddamn time.

I've missed dinner by now. Probably for the best. Savin' pennies here 'n there might just keep this place afloat. It might be the _only_ way, honest. At this point, I'm not sure what else I can do. We'll be selling off land by the end of the year.

Tonight especially, I feel like a modern day Job. Everythin' just gets taken away from me, bit by bit, piece by piece. My faith is being tested. Not in God — that faith was never too strong anyway — but my faith in the Whitlock name. _Am I strong enough? Do I have it in me? Will I honour the family legacy when all Hell breaks loose? When I lose everyone I love — every soul that's ever loved this place — will I stay loyal to this land?_

I'm the only one left to take charge. The future of the Whitlock name has been left in my incapable, overworked hands. I don't have much of a choice but to stay loyal. I'll keep losing. _Take it all_, I think, _take it all but this house_. I'll never let another man destroy _this_. My eyes dart up and away from the mahogany table top, takin' in the grand room around me. These walls are all I've ever known — the red wood and grey stone, iron chandeliers and thick, fur rugs — it's _home_. Home is a place I'm proud of. It's the _only thing_ I am proud of in this backwards world.

Sadness holds a vice grip 'round my throat.

I push back from the table, chair legs scraping hard against the stone floor. Across the room, I pick up my father's decanter of scotch, and pour myself a too-big glass. The alcohol soothes my sadness. It burns beautifully in my empty stomach.

My eyes close. _I see her_. Bluntly cut black hair. Pale blue eyes. Furrowed brows. _Alice_. I'm endlessly thankful for Alice. _**Eight **_people spendin' a full week on the ranch means good, hard earned money for me and the boys. It's unusual, to say the least — lettin' a group of models wander around the property dressed in God knows what — but _any_ business is good business.

I take another drink. The sadness shakes off long enough for me to get back to work.

An inch of paperwork later, the world around me has fallen asleep. Darkness creeps in every window. Silence hangs like a curtain between me and the real world. For a second, I actually feel peaceful. I sit back in my chair, letting my eyes drop shut. The silence is broken by a muffled roll of thunder 'n my eyes snap open. Through the black door, I can see that the night sky has turned a dark, mauvey grey. The clouds are suddenly illuminated by a flash of sheet lightning. Maybe — at the very least — it'll finally rain. We need it badly.

I rise from my spot at the table and approach the back door, openin' it just as another roar of thunder shakes the earth. I watch in wait as the storm grows nearer, as the sky grows heavier above. After a few minutes my body grows tired and my patience wears thin. I decide either the rain's not comin' at all, or she's takin' her sweet damn time. One way or another, the ranch will stay put until the morning. _I should rest before the sun starts crawlin' up again._

My alarm doesn't wake me up.

It's a loud bang.

I jolt up 'n out of bed in an instant, breathing hard and ready for trouble. The noise goes again, all but shakin' the walls around me. Regardless, my heart settles down behind my ribs. It's only _thunder_, rolling directly over the house.

_Oh, it's rainin' now. _ _ **Pouring.** _

My father's voice rings in my ears: _a good drought always ends with a flood._

The clock beside me flashes bright red — 3: 41 AM. I hope Peter's remembered to close the stables for the night. There's a few new foals who wouldn't fare so well against a storm. Not much I can do about it now, but m_aybe I should go double check anyways_. _See the damage from out on the porch, at least_. I stretch out my tired, achy body, takin' my sweet time in moving away from the comfort of my own bed.

I tug my bedroom door open, and that's when I hear a voice fightin' hard against the storm. Something rattles downstairs, like fists banging on a window. It takes a moment, when realization hits it strikes hard— _shit. Someone's outside_. _Sounds like one of the girls. _I hurry back into my room and grab the first shirt I can find. I rush puttin' the thing on, cotton scratching hard against my sunburnt back. I'm downstairs in a flash, flippin' on every light switch I pass.

From the entrance to the dinin' room I can see her clearly.

It's Alice. She's soppin' wet.

I all but run through the grand old room, forcing open the french doors as fast as I can. _Thank God I left the porch light on. The poor woman would be lost in the rain otherwise._

"Get in here!" I shout, makin' sure she can hear me over the wind and the rain. I can feel my face goin' tight with concern when the little woman doesn't immediately move to follow me back into the house. She's shaking her head, trying to push wet hair out of her face. I feel like I'm in a dream. "C'mon —"

"No," she argues, trying to pull me out from my warm, dry house. Her hands are clammy. "No — there's a hole. There's a leak._ My roof is leaking_. I was asleep and it just_ gave out_," Alice shouts back.

_Seriously? She ran out in the rain for a little water in her room? Seems pretty _counterproductive_ to me. _I let out a heavy sigh, posture crumblin' at the onslaught of information. "Okay. Just — _**come in**_." I make way for Alice to enter my house again, and finally, hesitantly, she does.

"I'm sorry," Alice whispers, huggin' herself tightly. She takes one step into the house, then another, finally lettin' me close the door behind her. She pipes up again, sayin', "I don't want to wake anyone up." Her blue eyes dart around the room. I wonder what _anyone_ she's referrin' to. I'm the only _anyone_ in here.

I shake my head at her in response, too distracted to say much else. Under proper light, I can see that she's wearin' next to nothin'. Tiny grey shorts and a t-shirt — both drenched and clingin' to her skin — and a pair of sneakers coated in a thick layer of mud. Her teeth are chatterin'. It's pathetic, and beautiful, and _arousing_, somehow.

"Jesus Christ — _hold on_," I finally manage to grumble.

I return with the throw off the couch, unfolded and outstretched for Alice to take. She does, rather enthusiastically, and wraps the thing tight around her shoulders. "Thank you," she breathes, voice regaining a little calm.

"You couldn't wait until sunrise?" I ask her. It comes off sharp. _Tired_. I'm still strugglin' to look her dead on.

Her head turns, eyes snapping back to stare me down. She's frowning. _That _catches my full attention. "No, Jasper, I couldn't wait. There's —like, _**half the roof caved in**_."

"Wait -_what_?"

"I tried to—"

_**Fuck. **_Before she can finish, I'm runnin' off to grab my Wellies from the front door.

"Jasper!" She shouts. For such a small person, Alice has quite the voice. She'd do well in a big open place like this.

I shove my feet into boots and grab my jacket off the hook. On the way back to Alice, I grab a flashlight from a cabinet in the dinin' room. "Where'd it cave?" I ask, movin' all the while.

"Over the table. Jasper, I —"

"Here, take this," I say, handing Alice the flashlight. She complies, shakin' in place while I do up my old coat.

"_I'm coming with you_," she suddenly says. I laugh at the mere suggestion of it.

I pull open the back door and turn back to Alice, tuggin' the flashlight out of her little hands. "Stay right here. I'll be back."

"No. _My stuff!_ All my work is out there still. I can help — "

"It's okay," I reply in a rush. "I'll get it."

I close the door on little Alice before she can argue my decision. Another pair of hands would be useful, but tellin' her what to do would just take more time. I'd need someone else. Someone _taller,_ at the very least. _Peter._ Maybe that photographer Alice brought along — whatever his name was — he was big. Could be useful.

The rain is comin' down heavy, almost blowing sideways from the wind. I run with my head down, goin' towards the tool shed beside the barn. There's a tarp somewhere in there. It'll help for now. Mud kicks up around me, stickin' my boots firmly to the ground with every step. By the time I get to the shed I'm soaked head to toe, my raincoat a rather useless shield against the elements. Inside, I find the tarp quickly with the help of my flashlight, and a moment of protection against the weather. Once I've accomplishment my find, I tumble towards the door. But I hesitate to head back into the storm. My hair is soakin', my back is wet, my boots are flooding. Maybe I'm not Job. _Maybe I'm Noah, and this is my flood_. I glare at the sky, towards a God I haven't believed in for a long time. _A little warning would've been nice, _I shoot in His direction.

"_Jasper!?_" I hear, the woman's voice unmistakable even against the fightin' wind. It's Alice. I rush back outside - tarp in one hand, light in the other. My body immediately tenses against the cold.

I find Alice out in the rain, standin' only a few feet behind me. _Wearing — or drownin' in — my father's jacket_. Somethin' angry curls within me. _Why can't this woman listen_? "What did I say?" I yell back. "Go back inside!"

She huffs at me and turns her head indignantly, as if to say: _do as you will_, then proceeds to stomp right by me. Part of me is surprised she can even _stand up_ in this God awful wind. I'm stuck to the spot watchin' her until a drop of rain manages to sneak its way down the back of my neck. I shiver, and it frees me to run after that strange, bull-headed woman.

Even from half an acre away, I can see the damage Alice was talkin' about. My heart jumps into my throat, all too big to be comfortable. Too big to breathe. _Good Lord_. Half the roof has been knocked in by a thick broken branch, leaving a gaping wide hole. If that roof had failed anywhere else, or if the branch had gone through a window - Alice wouldn't be standin' beside me right now. I'm frowning so hard my face hurts. This measly old tarp isn't going to fix anythin'.

"Come with me," I say to Alice, my voice raised against the rain. I usher her towards the cabin and for the first time tonight, Alice actually follows my suggestion. "Be _careful," _I tell her, pushing the boundaries of my authority, "it's not sound." She nods her hood-clad head. We both wade into the cabin, workin' through at least an inch of water.

Alice splashes through the room, collecting armfuls of fabric into wet, open bags. I flash the light around, tryin' my best to help her while quietly assessin' the damage. My light eventually lands on a pile of black, hardcover books - _sketchbooks? Portfolios?_ \- full of soaked papers, splayed out 'n all but melting into the hardwood floor.

"Oh my god," Alice groans despondently. Her eyes are trained on the same pile, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "No — _no, no, no_." She hurries over to the circle of lit space beside the bed, peeling each piece up with a slow, delicate touch.

Whatever she's trying to save, it seems pretty pointless. And even inside, we're both gettin' soaked. The roof above us creaks. "_Alice_!" I push, tryin' to hurry her along.

"_I need these_," she replies, soundin' desperate.

I consider arguin' it for a split second, but I have a feelin' it won't get me very far with Alice. I decide to grumble my approval at her and move on, finishin' up the work she'd started with all the clothes. All the while, I can't help but think, _this is it. This repair is gonna set me back a few thousand dollars. At least. She's gonna pack up all her shit and leave, too. With all of 'em, so there goes payroll. Where's that money gonna come from? What am I gonna do? And she could've gotten seriously hurt! What the __**hell**__ would you have done then?_

"Okay," Alice says, dragging me out of my reverie.

I stop my worryin' long enough to look at her. She's standin' by the door, tuckin' wet papers into every pocket the jacket has. I'm sure she's got those books zipped up under there, too.

I shove a handful of rather … _lacy_ garments into a backpack open beside the couch. I close the thing and sling it over my shoulder. "I'll grab your cases," I say, before thrustin' the flashlight in Alice's direction. "We'll get you settled back in the house and I'll uh, come back 'n figure this out."

Alice glances up at the hole in her cabin roof, face twisted with concern. "I'll bunk with Carmen and Tanya," Alice decides, turning her head to look at me again. "We'll drop my stuff off next door and I'll come back to help—"

_What is her problem? _I've never met someone who needs to be so damn_ involved _with every little thing. Any other person would be running for civilization, but Alice - Alice stands here lookin' guilty, like she willed Mother Nature to wreak havoc on our little slice of paradise and now it's _her_ job to fix it.

I shake my head.

"Come back to the house," I_ firmly _suggest, "we'll figure the rest out in the mornin'. No point wakin' the whole world up now, and there's no way I'm gettin' up on that roof before the storm eases off. "

Alice scoffs at my insistence, but her demeanour changes fast when another roll of thunder shakes the cabin around us. _I bet the big house is lookin' pretty sturdy right about now, _I think. _I sure as Hell want to be there._

The woman succeeds, noddin' her head in agreement before turning herself to face the front door. "Alright," Alice submits, her voice teeterin' towards anxious. She shines the light out into the storm, illuminatin' barely five feet in the distance. The rain is still comin' down in an uninterrupted sheet. I can sense her hesitation from all the way across the room.

I suck in a deep breath of wet air. I'm no more eager to head out there than Alice is, but one of us has to move first. I play gentleman, walkin' until I'm right in front of her, shieldin' her tiny body from the rain that splashes at our feet. I tighten my grip on both of Alice's cases.

"You ready to make a run for it?" I ask, throwin' a quick glance her way.

Alice lets out an incredulous - kind of hysterical - laugh. "Yeah, I guess," she says.

We both dart into the night, runnin' down my now swampy path towards the main house. Thunder rolls again, followed by a particularly sharp snap of lightning. Alice shrieks beside me, and picks up her pace significantly. Despite the chaos of it all, I'm laughin'.

_So is she._

Once we're both huddled under the cover of the back porch, I drop Alice's bags to the ground. "Take off your shoes," I instruct, doin' the same myself. My once navy boots are muddied from toe to top.

Alice makes a disgruntled noise beside me. I peek up to spot her droppin' one of her muddy sneakers like it had bit her. "That was _white_ _**this morning**_," Alice explains, all in a huff.

I have to laugh again. "You seem more upset 'bout the damn shoes than you did a tree makin' itself comfortable in your livin' room."

"They were brand new!"

"That cabin was _a hundred years old!_" I throw back.

"_Due for an update_." Alice is quick on her feet in more ways than one.

How in God's name does she have me smilin' right now? I try to supress the reaction as best I can, in favour for a more neutral expression. It seems more fittin', considering my circumstance. That is - _I'm rightfully fucked. __"Right," I say. _I open the door and retrieve her bags once again, lugging the heavy, wet mounds into the dining room. I set them down with a wet and weighty squelch.

Alice toes into the house, awkwardly making her way out of my father's jacket as she does. I see that I'd assumed correctly earlier. While one hand fumbles with the zipper, the other is still clutching the jacket to her chest, holdin' up the books she had _desperately_ needed from back inside the cabin. "Here," I say, "give 'em to me." Alice stops tryin' to unzip the coat and instead pulls the books out from what she'd undone so far. I take them in both my hands, surprised to find they'd arrived decently dry. I set them on the table before reaching out again for the coat. Alice gives it to me. Holdin' it in my hands, I can still smell my father's scent clear as day. Scotch. Cigarettes. Sap. Mud. My throat tightens. "Thank you for letting me borrow that," Alice says shamefully. I look back to her, forcin' a tight-lipped smile on my face. "It's alright," I say. I hang the jacket over a chair to dry and turn back to the small, trembling woman. "Come on now," I say, "let's get you upstairs. I'm sure my sister's got something you can wear."

Alice straightens up beside me, brows raising toward her hairline. "You've got a sister here?" She asks, sounding ..._ surprised? Relieved?_

"Not here," I quickly amend, "Rose lives in Houston. Her room's still here. I'm sure there's somethin' in there you can borrow for now. Somethin' _dry_." Alice lets out a weighted breath, but follows me along to Rosalie's room without comment. I left all her wet belongings at the back door - where they won't trail water all through the house - so when I drop Alice off at her new room, she has nothin' but her cold, damp self.

She looks straight past me into Rosalie's room, a grateful smile stretched across her face. I watch her blue eyes dart from the graciously sized bed to the long, white dresser lining the east wall, to the adjoining bathroom. Then Alice looks back in my direction. "This is beautiful," Alice comments. "_This was your sister's room_? My whole apartment could fit in here."

I let out a nervous laugh, a hand flying up to rub the back of my neck. "A little bit of an upgrade from the cabin, huh?" She lets out a gratified laugh, takin' her first steps into the room. I hover awkwardly by the door, watchin' as she noses her way around the large bedroom. Alice jolts when she catches herself in a mirror, her pleased expression fallin' into horror.

"Oh," she groans out, rubbin' dirt off her face.

"There's a shower in the back. Pajamas should be in the drawer. _I think_. You can - uh - you can dig around if you need to. Rose 'll never know the difference." _God - what am I doing?_ Rosalie would castrate me if she knew I was offering up her bedroom to a total stranger. Alice digests this information piece by piece, watching me in the reflection of the mirror. She smiles at me, but it only makes her look more tired. I'd do just about anything to make her day one degree easier. "I should leave you to sleep, if you can," I mutter, reciprocating her smile. "Your stuff should be a little less wet in the morning, and we can get it all out and dry."

"Right," Alice says. Her smile falters again. "We've both got to be up soon."

_There's no way I'm tellin' her I'm already up for the day. _"_Right_," I parrot.

I give the doorframe a good, hard squeeze and then release it, standing up straight. "Alright, Ms. Alice. I'll leave you to it."

She turns around in a flash. "Hey wait," she calls, stoppin' me dead in my tracks. "Thank you, Jasper. Really. This is - this is very generous of you."

"Please don't mention it," I quickly reply, puttin' my smile back on. My name sounds nice on her lips, when she says it all soft like that. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Yeah," Alice agrees, arms wrapping around her little frame protectively. "_Me too_."

I watch her for one more second before decidin' I have to leave. _There's work to be done_. "G'night, Alice," I say, movin' to close the bedroom door for her.

"Goodnight, Jasper," she replies, that sweet voice embracing my name again.

Back in the dinin' room, I can hear her lithe footsteps wanderin' around upstairs. It's nice not havin' an empty house.

_Nicer than I'd like to admit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh!! thanks to everyone who has kept reading so far <3 excited to hear your thoughts & opinions!!


	3. Weathered Out

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

_Followed the track of my needle_  
_Tried to be good to my people_  
_So why's there no peace?_  
_No break no relief?_

_Can I be blamed if I'm angry?_  
_Can I be saved if I'm barely clinging to hope?_

_(Morning Comes , Delta Rae)_

* * *

_MONDAY_  
**ALICE**

I don't want to work today.

I've managed to catch another hour or two of sleep after the cabin conundrum, but it's far from enough. I'm exhausted. I'm sore. I'm angry. My eyes sting and my skin itches from the mud I failed to wash off in my hasty shower last night.

_I don't want to work today._

Inspiration and hope have both abandoned me, replaced by a jittery sense of uncertainty. Our first shoot was supposed to start at ten. I had planned for a slow morning — an early rise, a quick breakfast, a few hours spent decorating models to a picture perfect ideal — this is not possible now. I'll have to spend the morning cleaning and steaming all the clothes that got drenched last night. My whole creative process has been thrown out of whack. I hate it. _Stupid freakin' Mother Nature. Stupid Texas._

I let out an exasperated huff and roll over, burying my face in the pillows. I want to scream, or sleep, or evaporate altogether. I can't do _any _of that_. _I have to get up. _**Now**_. I have no choice. If my models slink out of their rooms to find me missing and my cabin half taken down by a tree, they'll dive into full on panic. I've got to make an appearance. At the very least, I'll go tell them our schedule has been pushed back by a few hours. _Show them that I'm still alive. _To do all that, I've got to leave this wonderfully comfortable bed. Jasper's sister — _Rose, I think he said_ — is a very lucky woman. These sheets feel like Egyptian cotton, the pillows like clouds. Considering everything else around here is so rural, this bedroom is a special kind of luxury. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

I eventually convince my body into a hot shower and wash the remnants of last night down the drain. I wash my hair and clean my face, hoping that good hygiene will pass off as _restfulness_. After that, I dig through the bathroom cabinets, hoping to find a hairdryer hidden somewhere behind this woman's five million creams and endless pink towels. I'm out of luck. I can smell like eucalyptus or cherry blossom or s'mores, if I want to, but my hair will just have to dry out in the sun, like a damn pioneer. I want to feel resentful, _and I do_, but I don't know who — or what — to direct that energy towards. It's not _Jasper's_ fault, for sure, and I certainly don't feel comfortable blaming an inanimate object like a hairdryer a tree or an old, decrepit cabin. My anger is pointless. I breathe in that realization, and breathe out negativity.

Another silver lining: _I don't have to be in front of the camera. It doesn't matter what__** I **__look like today. _That softens my homicidal mood. A little.

I'm forced to wear whatever I can source out from the large white dresser in the bedroom, which ends up being a pair of athletic shorts and an old track and field t-shirt. Both items read Beaumont High in bright, collegiate lettering, printed clear across the back; which screams _class_, really.

_It's going to be a_ _ ** great ** _ _day._

Deciding it's far too early for a drink, I settle for a shot of emotional support instead. There is a string of unopened messages from my family waiting patiently on my phone and I pause long enough to read them, hoping their words of support will carry me through the morning.

_Congratulations, sweetheart. We miss you already._

Esme.

_So truly excited for you, dear Alice. Your mother misses you, so give her a call when you can!_

Carlisle.

_Don't have too much fun._

Edward.

The texts have the opposite of the intended affect. _I miss home so badly it hurts_.

As I read through each text on repeat, sucking all the joy and love and _normalcy_ from each word, I wonder how worth it my dream really is. _Am I crazy coming here? Who at twenty-three thinks they have the know-all to release their first line? You almost died your first night here — are you really in control of anything? It's only going to go downhill from here. You're wasting time. You're wasting money. How did you manage to convince anyone you were talented enough to do this? _I'm starting to spiral. No, actually, I'm _deep-spiral_. I'm seconds away from calling my parents and crying mercy.

I need air. I need to look outside and remind myself that the world has not ended — that the sun has come up and will continue to shine despite my biggest, loudest worries. I drag my jittery body towards the far wall off the room, where a pair of white linen curtains hang closed. There's a window there, I think, so I reach to pull back the curtain and realign myself with the rest of the world.

_Oh._

It's not a window. I've uncovered a set of glass paned doors, leading out to an expansive wooden balcony. Morning light pours in the panels unencumbered, a shock to my tired eyes. The sun's immense, warm glow encourages me to open the doors, so I do. The balcony creaks under my bare feet, its panels slightly damp from the storm last night. My tense muscles relax against the cool morning breeze.

The world around me is so alive. It's only half past seven in the morning, but there are people _everywhere_. The cowboys from the mess hall are hard at work — bringing horses out of the stables, securing pastures, picking up branches that broke against the wind, while some of them just wander back and forth, moving feed from one spot to another. That same big, Texas sun from yesterday sits among a cover of wispy white clouds like it had never left, warming the still wet ground below me. Birds sing in the distance. Animals breathe and neigh and chortle along with them.

I breathe in. I breathe out. _Everything's going to be okay._

I continue to ease my way forward, eventually landing at the log rail enclosing the space. From this spot, I can see the little cabin that was intended to be my home. Jasper is there. He and someone — _Peter, I think_ — stay put by the cabin door the whole time I watch. They're both pointing out damage, nodding their cowboy-hat-clad heads.

The sight of that roof all caved in unfurls my nervous stomach. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over my being. I'd been angry about my first night in Texas upon waking, and then anxious, but now from this vantage point I can literally see last night for what it was — that storm was going to come whether I liked it or not. That old, crooked tree was destined to fall. At the very least, no one got hurt. _Everything got wet_, my weary brain reminds me. _But no one got hurt! _I can hold on to that.

I'm still watching Jasper, trying to decipher what's shared between him and the speck of a person I assume is Peter, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

It's from James: _Meet outside in 10 for breakfast?_

_Sounds good! _I send back, feigning all enthusiasm.

That heavenly bed calls to me, but the call of the real world is even louder.

I trudge out of Rose's pristine bedroom into the upstairs hallway. It's lined by doors on one side and a wooden railing on the other, allowing me to see down into the dining room below; the very same one I'd left my belongings in the night before. I want to hurry — to get down there, out into to the breathable outdoors and to my coworkers — but I can't make myself move.

My heart squeezes its way into my throat, pounding so hard I think I might be choking.

All of my sketches, designs, plans for the look book, little doodles I'd done on the bus — all the work I'd written off as _ruined _after last night's flood — have been laid out across the grand, mahogany table.

_I can't breathe,_ but somehow I'm moving. Somehow, I make it down the stairs.

It's all there. Every little scrap I'd savaged from the lake that was once my cabin floor is here, accounted for. _Dry. _A few of the sketches are past the point of saving — smudged beyond recognition — but others are totally unharmed, gingerly held down at the corners by household items like erasers and _spoons_ so their edges remain unwrinkled.

Jasper must've done this. My heart is hammering in my chest, so loud I can hear it echoing around the room. I have no idea what I've done to deserve this genuinely kind and wholly _tender_ treatment. I walk along the length of the table, running my fingers over curled paper edges, until I come across a second impossibly hospitable deed.

_I've been given a treat._

I lift the muffin off the table and bring it to my nose, taking a deep inhale. _Cranberry_. _Lemon_. _Walnuts, I think_. A smile breaks across my face, only growing wider when I notice the note left with my breakfast.

_Alice,_

_Didn't want you to lose all this work._

_Hope you don't mind that I spread them out for you — just thought they'd dry better this way._

_\- J_

_PS: Charlotte made muffins._

I set the muffin back down and break off a piece of the top, popping it in my mouth. _Holy Lord_. It's warm and citrusy and tart, just as good as any twelve dollar muffin I'd scarf down on a New York City morning. Before I'm even finished my first bite, I'm picking off another chunk, suddenly ravenous for more. With each bite, my nervousness dwindles, drowned out by the affront of sugar first thing in the morning and the wholly comforting knowledge that someone out there _has my back_.

While I continue to snack on the muffin with one hand, I run my other fingers along the messy curves of Jasper's handwriting._ Who is this man? Do people this good actually exist? Did he wake up early to set this out for me? This isn't normal, right? He's probably trying to make up for the fact that his property could've killed me last night. That's got to be it._

My brain keeps reeling, and I can't tell what's thrilling me more: the fact that _most_ of my work has been salvaged, or that I've got a _seriously attractive cowboy_ scavenging food for me.

Probably the latter. _Definitely the latter._

It's hard to pull myself away from that spot, nestled amongst the rich decor of the living room. I want to play spy. I want to search the walls for family photos and scour this log mansion until I can decipher the blonde enigma that is Jasper Whitlock. I'm eager to piece together his behaviour, to understand how a man who has so much family and _so much kindness to give_ could be so totally alone in this big house.

Work beckons with a resounding ding from my phone, letting me know the first of endless daily correspondence has arrived in my email. My search will have to wait for another, less chaotic day. The fashion world is awake, and I've got shit to do.

I'm barely at the cabins when the vultures descend. Irina, Kate, James, Peter, and Jasper are all waiting with overflowing mouths, their talking an impenetrable wall of sound. I blink in reply and tuck my hair away from my face, trying to take in their concerns one by one, but impossible to process any of what they're saying when they're all this frantic.

"— And good morning to you, too," I snark.

Peter laughs. He's the only one who does. I throw him an appreciative — if not totally exhausted — smile.

I can tell that my models are about a second away from exploding. I take a deep breath and very briefly explain, "everyone can relax for awhile. As you can probably tell, things got a little out of whack last night." I motion towards my damaged roof as evidence. "So we're pushing our first shoot 'til this afternoon. _Okay? _But I just need five minutes to —" I wave a hand towards Jasper and Peter and say, "to just figure stuff out. _Can I have that_? _Please_? I'll fill you all in after that."

I've never been this sharp with them before. James is smiling full force. "Sure thing, boss," he says. I can't tell what's behind his voice — sarcasm? Genuine respect? _I doubt that._

The girls look far from amused, but James ushers them back towards his cabin.

I turn back to Jasper and his ranch foreman, offering a clenched smile. "God, I'm so sorry," I say, trying to excuse my sharp tongue, "I'm just —"

"Don't you worry about a thing," Peter assures me, chuckling. "They came down like a pack of wolves."

I breathe out a laugh and shake my head. I don't bother mentioning that he and Jasper had done the same thing.

Jasper clears his throat, directing our attention back towards himself. I barely even _look_ at the man and my entire body flushes a deep _red,_ remembering all the time he's spent worrying over me in the last twelve hours.

"Now — I don't want to make your day any more complicated than it already is," Jasper drawls, and Peter's face goes from pleasant to solemn. I say nothing in response. _That segue can only lead to bad news. _The flush in my cheeks fades fast.

"The storm took down trees just like this all across the property. I've got men cleanin' up everything we can, but it's goin' to take us a little while to clear the fields y'all wanted to use for the shoot today," Jasper says.

I cross my arms over my t-shirt clad chest, literally trying to hold myself together. "How long?" I nervously ask.

"Oh — we could probably get it done in the next few hours."

_I relax. Just barely._

"That's not a problem. It might take me that long to get everyone ready anyways."

"Well — "

My posture falters against the weight of realization. _That _was just Jasper's opener. _That_ was the softball. _That was the good news before the bad._

"Its not just the wind damage. It's the fields. They just — they need the day to dry," Jasper sheepishly admits. "There's puddles big as craters out there 'n mud so thick you'd think its quicksand. Y'all might be better off just waitin' for — "

"No," I shoot back, shaking my head. "No, no. I'm sorry — I can't wait for the sun to do its thing here. We've got way too much to get done today and after last night, we're way behind schedule. I can wait until _this afternoon,_ but that's it. We'll be out in that meadow come Hell or high water —_ literally!_ If we have to take a boat out there, I'll do it."

Jasper holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey," he says, restraining a smirk, "I'm not tryin' to upend your vision here, boss. All I'm sayin' is that I tried to get out there this mornin' to check it out and the _horses_ wouldn't even go near it. Too muddy. _Everythin's flooded, darlin'_. I mean,_** I **_don't have much of a choice in goin' 'round today to mend the fences and such, but I'm sure you ladies would prefer —"

I pull a face and start to dive headfirst into my usual '_I can do anything you can do_' rant, but Jasper stops me two words in. "Alright, alright — don't get yourself all worked up, I'm not gonna try 'n stop you." His lips — chapped, plump, pink as ever — threaten to pull into a smile. "I _guess_ I can send one of the cowboys up with you," he relents, "maybe Seth'll go. But it's your funeral - there's not much he can do if the ground swallows you whole. I can't even promise you'll get up that hill without fallin' on your ass."

My eyes narrow in response, arms crossing tighter around my front. "_We'll be fine_," I insist. "It'll probably be dry by then anyways."

"Well you'd charge Hell with a bucket of ice water, wouldn't you?" Jasper throws back. I'd complain, but he seems _delighted_.

Hours later we meet Seth: a sweet, unnaturally over-enthusiastic, seventeen-year-old boy who works full time on the ranch. He's tall and tanned, and wears his long black hair in a braid down the back of his neck. Seth is built purely of muscle and sunshine — the kid's smile alone would be strong enough to power the whole of New York City. Happy-go-lucky Seth proves a massive help in getting the eight of us — six dressed in expensive chiffon, satin, pearls — to the wide open meadow of wildflowers I'd scouted as our first shoot location. He's knowledgable and funny, and helps each and every done up model through the thicket with genuine concern for what he's doing. I adore this man. I'd take him home with me, if I could.

But with the clearing in sight, I come to a hard realization: Seth's infectiously bright attitude can't do anything to protect us against the upcoming onslaught of mud. The clearing I see is no longer a beautiful array of pastel coloured flowers._ It's a swamp._ A brutal, miserably wet hole that stretches for a mile in every direction; and for the first time in a _very_ long time, my gut instinct has been proven utterly wrong. _I should've listened to my knowledgeable cowboy._

Irina complains first, of course. They all do in time, save for Angela. _Bless her heart._

I make a big show of continuing forward, toeing my way towards the bright spot of sun in the middle of the field. I play like it's easy — like I'm not struggling to pry my foot from the ground with every sticky step — and I ask them to push through just the same. This location isn't what we expected, not really, but the clean line of trees in the distance and the crystal blue sky above will still make for some beautiful shots.

"Just be careful where you're walking!" I instruct, glancing over my shoulder to display my _totally natural _smile. _See? If I can do it, so can you!_

The mud only gets thicker as I walk further into the clearing. Puddles are wider and deeper and closer together, surrounded by pathetic patches of wilted grass. It feels a cruel joke that the sun is so unforgivingly present today — low-hanging and hot above me — like this spot has never seen a drop of rain in its existence. I'm looking up, shooting silent death threats to Mother Nature, when my foot sinks into a puddle and drops, like the earth has given out below me. I'm up to my shin in sludge. Water seeps into my shoe, through my sock. I can feel mud between my toes.

Okay — enough is enough. I'm done. Time to go home. A girl can only be expected to handle so much dirt in one day.

I sigh out my frustration and turn to face my peers, only to find that Angela is rushing towards me, stepping around puddles as if they were landmines. I throw my hands up at her and shake my head. "Wait! Angela, don't —" before I can say any more, the model sinks into a mud puddle of her own.

"_Oh my God!_" I screech, abandoning my own attempt at escape to council Angela. She's far more important. I'm dressed in grimy gym shorts — _she's wearing thousands of dollars worth of embroidered Swarovski crystals. _"Don't move! _Don't move!_" I loudly beg, dropping the tote bag of extra makeup and stilettos I have slung over my shoulder to the ground. Unencumbered I try to stand again and succeed, begging Angela to stay still all the while. She doesn't listen to me. Angela struggles against the mud and eventually loses her balance, falling forward with a surprised yelp. She reaches out her hands to stop herself from face planting, but not before I'm down on my knees in front of her, hands out, ready to stop her fall.

"Alice, I'm so sorry," Angela groans, trying desperately to get herself back up. My eyes follow hers as we take in damage done. Her chiffon, knee-length dress is muddied from the waist down and gets progressively dirtier as she struggles. I can't think about it. _I can't_. If I focus on that dress getting stained, I'm going to snap. I shake it off and ignore her apologies in favour of helping her find balance again. We're half way to standing up, but my damn muddy shoes refuse to grip the slick ground. I move to stand again and again only to fall back down, like a hamster stuck on a wheel. Angela is awkwardly positioned to my left, now trying to help me instead of rectifying her own situation.

It all happens in a second, but it feels like hours before James and Seth finally come to our aid. They're laughing all the while, and I struggle to find any humour in this situation. My face twists into a scowl. Seth goes to Angela's aid and James to mine, one hand outstretched in a show of help while the other cradles his favourite camera. I sourly accept his help and try to stand, moving slow — like I'm on ice. My feet give out against the mud _again_. I fall hard on my ass and James comes tumbling down with me, shouting out a resounding _fuck!_

His camera hits the ground before he does.

The shoot is effectively done for the day after that.

We return to the hub of Whitlock Ranch looking like a _joke_. Everyone is coated in mud — our guide included — and pulling faces that range from mild entertainment (Seth) to my full on rage.

The cowboys hoot and holler as we walk past the main pasture, where they're all standing by as the horses take water.

"Good Hell, Seth — didja make them wrestle for you?" One of them asks.

I'm past my boiling point. That smart-mouthed cowboy is going to get a good talking to.

"Hell yeah!" Kate calls back, much to my dismay. She throws a huge smile on her face and flounces over, showing off her _almost totally clean_ — and very low cut — dress. Her legs are covered in mud and her wild, blonde curls are a mess, but otherwise Kate looks perfect. Photo ready. I feel a twinge of jealousy at her good looks and even more envious of her laissez faire approach with every passerby.

"I took 'em all down," she jokes, "cleaned the floor with Alice before she knew what was coming."

I can feel their eyes boring into me, taking in the mud I wear from head to toe. Someone wolf-whistles. I'm flustered. I'm frustrated. I want to run and hide. I can't … not without running directly past the group of men. Between their staring eyes and the jokes and the dirtied dresses and the broken camera and _all the damn mud_, I'm seconds away from a full on tantrum — foot stomping and all.

_I hate Texas. I hate it. I hate it Texas with all my —_

"What in the Hell happened to you?"

Jasper seems to appear from the centre of the sun, as he always does. He's surrounded by its golden light, his hair and eyes and skin all radiating warmth. With every step in my direction his sunny halo grows smaller and smaller behind him, until I'm finally able to separate him as his own entity. Jasper is wearing much the same as yesterday, but his jean and plaid uniform is splattered with mud same as my own clothes.

"It's nothing," I quickly answer, bowing my head so he can't see my frustration.

"You bit the mud and the mud bit back, huh?" Jasper concludes.

I peek up to see him hovering nearby, tall enough to cast shade far past me. He raises a hand to rub a speck of dirt off his face, and I follow the movement, stopping abruptly on his amused hazel eyes. That's when I realize that he's laughing at me, too. When I say nothing in return, Jasper goes on.

" — I don't know what you expected," he drawls.

I'm done. "Enough!" I snap, "_that's enough!_"

Jasper takes a full step back in surprise. I stand a little taller and storm right past him _and_ the half dozen cowboys hanging around the pasture.

"Alice! Wait!" Jasper calls.

None of this is his fault, but I can't handle the man right now. I feel bad for snapping, but God, it feels so good to just up and walk away from them all. I need space. I need to breathe. I need to call my parents and whine and maybe drink a bottle of wine. Or two.

"Don't, man. She needs—" I can hear James say. Then I'm out of hearing distance. I hope they listen — whoever James is talking to.

I storm up the steps of the back porch and in through the dining room, past Jasper's kind display from this morning. I kick off my shoes and dart through the room, careful not to spread mud everywhere as I do.

The back door swings open behind me.

"Alice, _I'm sorry_. Are you okay?"

I turn around to see Jasper following me, his face that of a face of a kicked puppy. I grunt in response and head for the stairs, hoping my aggravated noises are hint enough. Jasper follows, cowboy hat in hand and boots clunking against the hardwoods. _The gall -_

"Alice?" Jasper asks again.

I turn, all a flurry.

"Dont," I insist, waving him off. "_I'm fine_." I start my ascent up the stairs, counting down the seconds until I'll be in the warm embrace a shower. It's the only thing that'll calm me down now. That, and a good talk with Carlisle. Hopefully he's around.

Jasper insists on trailing me up the stairs, closing the distance between us with every long-legged step. I huff and puff all the way to Rose's bedroom door, hoping my know-it-all-cowboy will get the hint and_ leave me alone_. I shove the door open with all my might, leaving a big, muddy handprint for good measure.

"Can I at least —?" Before Jasper can ask his question, I close the door square in his face.

It's rude. It's totally unnecessary. But after the day I've had, it feels so damn good. The stern face I've been holding relaxes. Tears spring forward in my eyes. I'm about to turn away from the door, to let myself fall into this black hole kind of mood, when I hear Jasper's persistent, honey soft voice echo through the wood.

"It's just a little mud is all," I hear him say. When I don't reply, Jasper tries again. "If it's any consolation, I fell on my ass 'bout ten times today."

He goes quiet, waiting for my response, but when nothing comes he lets out a heavy breath and says, "look - nothin' fixes a bad mood like a full belly. At least come to dinner, alright?"

I don't answer.

"_Alright,_" he concludes on my behalf.

Then - _finally_ \- I'm left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four should be up very, very soon!


	4. She's a Silver Lining

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

_Somewhere in her smile she knows  
_ _That I don't need no other lover  
_ _Something in her style that shows me  
_ _I don't wanna leave her now_

_(Something, The Beatles)_

* * *

_MONDAY_  
**JASPER**

It's nice to see Charlotte. It's been a week — maybe ten days — but in such a short time she's changed. Her hips are wider, her face plump and full and pink. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be able to tell, but I can clearly see how the early stages of pregnancy are changin' her form. It's kind of magical, really. I've known Peter since we were boys, so seein' him find love, get married, start a family of his own — it's a gift. I'm glad to be in on their little secret — glad to know I'm considered part enough of the family to know about their baby before anyone else.

I approach Charlotte and hang an arm loose over her shoulders, keepin' her from finishing up with dinner. "Hey, Charles," I say.

She turns, pressin' a quick kiss to my cheek before pushin' me away.

"Can you grab the cilantro out of the fridge for me, Jas?"

I do as I'm told, movin' 'round the mess hall kitchen to gather whatever Charlotte asks of me. The cilantro first, then olive oil, then a bowl stored high over the stove.

We move around each other in a quiet, determined jaunt. There's not much said between us, but there doesn't need to be. I've known Charlotte since she was seventeen years old. We were both horrendously quiet back then — held together by the compellin' force that was teenage Peter — and we operate on much the same orbit now. We love Peter and the ranch, and value hard work over anythin' else. I think that's why Peter keeps us around — we keep him in line. We're the realists that balance out his big, dreamy, beautiful head.

I'm damn excited to see what their kid comes out like.

"What's got you smiling?" Charlotte asks me.

I wipe the grin off my face and turn my head to face her fully. "Oh, nothin', nothin'," I say, "just hungry. This all looks delicious."

She raises a thick brow at me and smiles before turning back to chopping her cilantro.

"Peter told me our guests had a bit of a rough day," Charlotte says.

"Yeah, that puts it mildly," I cautiously reply. I think back to Alice — angry, angry Alice — and my muscles tense. "I warned 'em about how it gets out there, but Alice wanted to do a uh, shoot out in the meadow, so they went. She's a determined little thing, that one."

"Bless her heart," Charlotte says, shaking her head. She doesn't bother looking up from her work chopping herbs. "I wouldn't even head up there on a good day. Between all the bugs 'n the brush it's not worth it."

"I think Alice wanted to see the uh, flowers that were bloomin' there."

"_Oh did she_?" Charlotte sounds strangely amused.

I nod my head, brows furrowin' together. "What is it?" I ask, "what's _that _voice?"

"Nothing, nothing," the woman insists, copyin' my line from earlier. She sets down her knife and wipes her hands on the kitchen towel hangin' over her shoulder. I keep starin' her down. Finally, hands on her hips, she dramatically says, "_Alice likes the wildflowers. Alice wants to shoot. Alice is so _talented_. For the past two days, it's been Alice this, Alice that —_"

"Charlotte —"

"It's sweet!" Charlotte explains, "there's eight of 'em here, but all you see is _Alice_. I mean — I even saw her walkin' around earlier in Rose's stuff, Jas. And you're lettin' her stay in the main house?" My lack of reply tells Charlotte everything she needs to know. She clears her throat and asks, "_did you two —_?"

"No! No. It's nothin' like that."

The woman '_tsks_' at me and continues on. "But you'd give her your right leg if she asked for it, wouldn't you? _Must be somethin' special_."

I can feel heat spreadin' across my face. "C'mon," I argue, taking the heaping bowl of salsa Charlotte shoves towards my chest. "I'm just bein' hospitable."

"Sure," she answers. "Or —"

"Or what?"

"I don't know," Charlotte says, voice droppin' quieter all of a sudden. "I saw you two together this morning, and … I — I haven't seen you look at another woman like that since Mar—"

"Charlotte."

"I know, I know. Just sayin'. You seem smitten."

"It's nothin', Charles. Definitely nothin' like that. Alice is just — she's a breath of fresh air is all. I like her." After a pause, I add: "she's leavin' Sunday so _attractive or not_, nothin' is going to happen."

"_Sure_. Because no city girl fantasizes of a week long romp with a cowboy."

She hands me a huge bowl of fresh baked corn chips next. I'm red head to toe. _Charlotte has it all wrong!_ I'm about to set her straight — tell her how upset Alice was with me only hours before — but we're interrupted.

"_**I certainly do**_."

Our heads snap up at the same time. It's Peter. He's leaning against the kitchen door frame, a thousand-watt smile spread across his face. Charlotte breaks into a fit of laughter.

I just keep shaking my head.

"Both of y'all have your heads in the gutter," I commend, deciding to take my leave when Peter comes to sweep his wife into his arms. I stay just long enough to watch his hands drop to her stomach, his lips fall onto hers. I want what they've got. Something easy, like breathing. It's beautiful to witness.

I'm almost out the door, takin' the chips and dip out to the rest of the men, when Peter calls out to me. I turn around expectantly, finding him standing behind Charlotte, his head restin' on top of hers.

"No matter what — don't say I told you so. It's the last thing she needs to hear right now."

I pause, obviously confused.

"She's sittin' out there," Peter explains. "_Alice_."

My lungs fail to hold onto a breath. _She actually showed up. Alice actually listened to me._

"You're damn lucky she is, too. You dug yourself a grave tryin' to tell her you were right earlier. Even if you were, just … don't remind her," Peter says. The man has a point. I nod my head in response and finally make my way into the main room of the mess hall.

Alice is off in the far corner with her photographer. She's dressed in what I _think_ are her own clothes, and she looks the picture of sophistication compared to her messy appearance when I saw her last. Alice wears jeans and a flowy kind of top, and her hair is down and straight around her face. She looks clean. Tired. Alice keeps her eyes locked on the photographer, straight faced as he talks at her with big gestures. I don't think either of them have noticed my enterin' the room, and I take the opportunity to listen in.

" — this is why I told you a studio would be better, Al. We can control the lighting, the atmosphere, the background, _everything_. This is just a mess. We can still bite the bullet and —"

_I don't want to hear this._

I quickly turn away from the pair and walk towards the long table that sits off to one end of the room. I set down the bowls I've been holdin', only a few inches away from Mike 'n Quil, the latter of who is hand rolling a cigarette on the table. I give him a good nudge.

"Hey," I say, tryin' to distract myself, "Charlotte is bringin' dinner out. Better not let her see you doin' that at the table."

He gives a curt nod of his head and cleans up his mess in the time it takes me to sit at the farthest end of the table. It's the first time I've sat down since the storm woke me up last night, and I'll be damned if I ever stand again.

Mike and Quil have cleared out, leavin' me with nothing to focus on but Alice and that photographer. I've got a good view of them from the seat I've chosen. Alice has her hand on James' arm. She's shakin' her head, speaking' a mile a minute. From where I'm sittin' it looks like she's comfortin' him. I'm hopeful that she's fightin' to stay at the ranch for the remainder of their shoot.

There's somethin' about the way the photographer watches Alice that makes my skin feel tight. I shift in my seat, elbows comin' to rest on the table before me. I want to look away, to stop the uncomfortable feelin', but I can't. Not when that man's eyes are burning hard into Alice's face. I can't read him — is it anger? Lust? Either way, it don't sit easy with me.

He steps closer. She lets him.

"Jasper! Hey!"

Seth walks into my line of vision, a whole six feet of smiles. I've always liked the kid, but his timin' has never been ideal. I drag my eyes off of Alice's back, tryin' hard to focus on the young man.

"Seth," I say. "How ya doin'?"

He comes to sit at my left, copyin' my posture exactly. I can see he hasn't bothered cleanin' up all the mud he got in earlier today, and that puts a smile on my face. Seth was born to be here — to work outdoors — just like me. Nothin' bothers him. Not dirt, or bites, or gettin' bucked clean off his horse. It helps that he's so young — still bounces back like rubber.

Seth starts ramblin' on about his day with the models and his sister, Leah, who he seems to believe would get along with one particular woman named Angela. He points towards a woman with long brown hair, who seems perfectly content sittin' in the corner readin' a book. This _Angela woman_ looks nice. Quiet.

Honestly I'm still too focused on Alice to care much. My eyes dart away from Angela, towards the little lady with the choppy black hair. Her and the photographer have been joined by a blonde. The excitable one. Kate, I think. Alice is turned more towards us, smiling. She tilts her head back and lets out a laugh — boisterous, joyful — so loud it catches Seth's attention too.

"She's certainly in a better mood," Seth mutters at me. He chuckles. "Last I saw her, even 'er walk was angry." Seth reaches past me for a chip, scooping a massive heap of salsa up along with it.

"Yeah," I comment. God only knows what's put a smile on Alice's face, but I'm grateful for it. Even if the photographer's got somethin' to do with it.

My shoulders tense when Alice glances around the room, those buggy blue eyes of hers landin' on me. I watch as recognition fills her face, and then something else — embarrassment, I think. Alice's thin mouth pulls into a little smile.

I smile back.

Just like magic, it draws Alice right over to me.

"Hi," she says, all simple and sweet-like. Alice drops her hands on the back of a dining chair, like she's waiting' for permission to pull it out and sit.

"Alice," I say by way of greeting.

She puts on that same smile again and gives the chair a good tug out from under the table before takin' a seat.

"Hi, Alice," Seth says beside me. "Sorry again about today. I shoulda gone out there before you did."

Alice holds up a hand, effectively silencing the boy. "Don't even try. I was being ridiculous," she succeeds. "You both went above and beyond by letting me go out there in the first place. Especially after you asked me not to." She's looking directly at me now.

I shrug my shoulders, Peter's words still ringin' in my ears: e_ven if you were right, just don't remind her._

"I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants," I decide to say.

She smiles. _Again!_

"_Yeah!" _Seth agrees. "Besides — it was kind of fun."

Alice grimaces, her face scrunchin' up uncomfortably. I expect her to get mad, but instead, she starts laughin'. "Uh, yeah, _sure_," Alice says, voice drippin' with sarcasm, "_fun for everyone_."

My chuckle is drowned out by Peter's boomin' voice.

"Clearwater! C'mere! Help me bring all this damn shit out to the table!"

Seth jumps out of his seat so fast I'm surprised his pants come along with him. It's funny — I know how harmless Peter is, but I often forget that the cowboys don't see him that way. To them, he's not _just Peter._ He's the foreman. He's their boss — more than I am, really. They've got to listen to every word he says. Seth runs off and I take a good hard look at Peter standing in the doorway. He keeps on that same intimidating demeanour as Seth enters the kitchen, but breaks once the boy passes, throwin' me a smirk and a look I know all too fuckin' well — _Peter's playin' wingman_. _He's strategically left us alone. _I try to keep my reaction invisible to Alice's eye, turnin' back to her and our conversation only when I'm sure my face has settled.

I play like we'd never been interrupted in the first place. I keep it professional — light — just to spite Peter.

"Tomorrow is going to be better," I promise.

"Oh, I know," Alice assures. She relaxes back into her chair, pursing her lips and fixing her hair before speaking. "Look — I shouldn't have tried to bite your head off earlier. I overreacted. I was — I was exhausted, I was off-schedule and grumpy, and —"

"Alice," I interject. She goes quiet. "I get it. _Hell_, I have ten little meltdowns a day. I work with a group of buffoons — it's impossible not to!" I joke, throwing a dramatic look around the room at my men.

She chuckles, hangs her head. "I know. But none of that was your fault. I shouldn't have taken my bad day out on you. Just … let me apologize for it. _Please_?"

I nod my head, throwin' on a smile, too. "Alright," I say. "If you insist, then _of course I accept_."

" — _And my drawings!_ I can't believe you actually—"

"Alright, everyone. _Carnitas!_" Charlotte bellows. She emerges from the kitchen with a plate in each hand, followed by Peter and Seth who've got just the same. The trio descend upon the table and lay out a colourful array of food. Everyone else — cowboys and models and photographers alike — starts crowding in, picking their spots around the long oak table.

Alice shoots me an apologetic smile. Our conversation is over. _For now._

When I find a free moment to talk to her next, it's about an hour after dinner. I've been in the kitchen with Tyler and Seth, our two newest hands, keepin' 'em company as they work through dishes for _seventeen people. _It was a good cover to take a break, away from the small talk 'n niceties that come along with hosting guests, but it seems foolish to sit alone in the kitchen once they're done.

I meander back into the mess hall and find Alice sittin' lonesome at the table. Embry and Quil sit at the opposite end, playing cards. Mike is shootin' darts with the photographer. Peter sits with Charlotte to his left, strummin' away at his faithful old guitar. Until I get closer to her, Alice is turned to watch Peter play, her face restin' in her hands. It's a pity that my arrival pulls her focus. She turns her head in my direction, blue eyes takin' me curiously.

"Hey," I say, comin' to take the seat beside her.

"Hi," Alice replies.

"He's talented, right?" I nod towards Peter.

Alice nods her head, big eyes turning back to watch Peter play. He flows from the end of one song into the beginning of another. it takes me a moment, but eventually I recognize it to be something familiar. Something folksy and sweet and … eventually, it hits. He's playin' _Pale Blue Eyes_. I don't expect him to sing, but he does. It's been awhile since Peter's voice has filled this room. Peter is talented — seriously talented. I can play guitar, I can sing a little, but nothin' like him. Peter's got the whole room starin' him down. My chest swells with a certain kind of pride.

"Where did you find _him_?" Alice asks me, her question tucked into a breathless chuckle.

"Peter? Oh, I've known 'im forever," I say nonchalantly. "His father used to work with mine, actually. Since before we were born. They ran this place together. We both grew up workin' on the ranch and when — when I took over," I say, expertly avoidin' the conversation of _why I took over_, "it only seemed natural Peter be my right hand."

Alice nods her head, watching the man sing with a strange intensity for another second or two before she settles back into her chair. I keep watchin' Peter, not wantin' to make Alice uncomfortable, but I can feel her eyes burning holes through my skin. She's watchin' _me_.

Eventually, she speaks. "I should've listened to you this morning." Her voice is sharp. Clear. She's a New Yorker, but without the distinctive twang. I wonder if she's lived there long.

"You really should've," I playfully contend. Screw Peter's suggestion.

"You were right."

I smile big. "_Was I_?"

I can almost hear Alice rollin' her eyes.

"You obviously know this place better than anyone. I don't know who I am thinking I'm smarter than you."

I turn to face her fully now, a single brow cocked in question. "That's the farthest thing from true."

Alice ducks her head again, that choppy black hair of hers hiding her eyes. She laughs. "_You know what I mean_. This is your area of expertise. You've literally been working on this ranch your whole life, and I don't think I've left New York since I was fifteen years old. I should've taken your advice. It's — It's just — it's been a long time since I've felt out of place. This is all new to me."

"Well think of it this way," I say, hoping I can at least offer Alice a lick of comfort, "if you got me out in the city, I'd be — well, I'd be useless as a second buggy in a one horse town."

Alice's brows pull together in confusion for a split second and then her bewilderment softens into understanding. She even looks up, starin' me dead in the eye. "_Pretty useless_?" She guesses.

"See, you're catchin' on quick."

Alice seems pleased with my reply. She shifts in her seat, hands comin' up to rest on the table. Alice picks mindlessly at the wood, but through it all, her eyes never leave mine. "I don't have much time for a learning curve," Alice tells me.

"Oh, it don't take much," I assure. "I bet I could turn the rest of your week around with one piece of good advice."

"_Shut your big mouth and listen_?"

My readied response is silenced by my own laugh. Alice — again — has proven herself to be mighty quick.

"Not what I was gonna say," I say, much to Alice's chagrin. "I was gonna say _boots_."

When she looks at me quizzically, I continue. "You notice how Seth barely slipped an inch out there today? Y'all have been runnin' around this place in shoes that barely got any tread to them. If you want to get through this week without any carnage —"

"Boots," Alice finishes for me.

"_Boots_." I reply. "You're gonna need 'em around here."

I begrudgingly remind myself of the conversation I'd overheard earlier, between Alice and her photographer. My advice — as useful as it might be — could very well be useless. I twitch nervously in my seat, eyes dartin' away from my companion to the tall, blonde man who's sittin' watching Peter across the room. _Had he convinced Alice to leave? Was Alice suddenly so cherry because she'd be leaving soon?_

" — that is, if you're plannin' on staying."

"What?" Alice asks, tiltin' her head to one side. "Of course we are."

My nervous, tickin' heart slows back to its usual pace. "Alright," I say. "_Good_. Jus' after last night and y'know, the rain and the cabin and then today —"

Alice's hand lands on my forearm.

"You don't control the elements, do you?"

"No, but —"

"And you don't expect there to be any other trees falling on my head?"

"No!" I say.

"Then please, Jasper, let's just leave it. I don't have the time to consider going anywhere else and despite it all, this place is still — it's exactly what I pictured. It's exactly right. I know what I want," Alice tells me, "and it's right here."

_Her hand is still on me_.

She continues on: "I'm determined to shoot outside, which is apparently ridiculous, but I'm going to keep trying until it works, so … no matter where I go, there's going to be _weather, _or _seven billion _other things that get in my way. I'm okay with that. I mean — this morning was a harsh reality check, but I'm going to figure it out."

I appreciate her honestly, and quite frankly jealous of her ability to finding any kind of silver lining. I've been lacking positivity lately — maybe my whole life. Optimism isn't wired into Whitlock DNA. I nod my head at Alice, offerin' her a smile. When I move, it's like she finally realizes where her own hand has snuck off to. Alice recoils, pullin her hand back to her side awful fast.

"I'm glad to hear that," I tell her softly, tryin' not to pull attention to her movin'. "And you're more than welcome to stay in Rose's room while you're here. If you're more comfortable bunkin' with the ladies, I understand, but she's certainly not usin' it. If you're settled and comfortable up there, you might as well stay."

Alice takes a few moments to consider my offer. "Thank you," she says. "I think I will, if you don't mind. It's a beautiful room."

"Rose is quite the decorator."

"You said she was your sister?"

I sit a little straighter, eyes darting around the room. Family has been an especially touchy subject for me as of late, but I'm hopeful Alice won't push much further than this. "Twin," I allow, a tight smile on my face.

"Oh," Alice says, taken aback. "That's — I should've guessed. That picture in her room — on the desk — that's her, right?" I nod. "She's very beautiful. Looks a lot like you."

I hope she can't see the hot that spreads across my face at her words.

"She doesn't come around much?" Alice asks.

This is what I was afraid of. I suck in a breath, wishin' I had a drink in my hands — somethin' I could distract myself with, or take a sip of to avoid answerin' Alice's questions. "She lives in Houston," I say, "with her husband, Emmett. They got married — I d'know — two years ago, now? And they moved out there together. He's got a big family, 'n —" I shrug my shoulders, eyes turning to Alice for a split second, "I don't think this life was exactly what they were lookin' for."

"I get that," she says. "I have a brother. I love Edward a lot — obviously — but we couldn't be more different."

"Yeah. Sometimes I think Rose 'n I came from totally different planets."

"Yes!" Alice exclaims, "It's like he's from a totally different century. He's so … modest. _Old-fashioned_. I'm sure I'd only ever hear from him in handwritten letters if I didn't put in the effort myself."

I have to laugh at that. "Sounds like someone I could get along with," I tell her. Old-fashioned could be right up my alley. I've never needed much more than a simple life.

"He'd love this place."

I give Alice a smile, but my focus has turned to Peter, who is knee deep in another song. It's _Something_ by _The Beatles_, this time. I'd recognize the song anywhere. Peter knows it's one of my favourites. Part of me starts to wonder if he's doin' all this on purpose — playing a slew of songs he knew would stir somethin' up in my gut. _The bastard_.

" — it's really growing on me, too."

I turn quick, eyes meeting Alice's. She smiles, her face tired but so purely genuine. I had somethin' to say — somethin' smart, I'm sure — but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. Alice is so _close_, sittin' right beside me, and from such a small distance I can see every detail of her face. Her eyes are blue, yes, but with some parts way darker than others. She's got a few freckles spattered across her temples, and a slit through one eyebrow. Her expression is set in a smile, those blue eyes unmoving. I can't make a coherent thought when Alice is watchin' me like that.

She hasn't blinked in a minute. She hasn't _moved_. It's just me and Alice, watching each other like none of the world exists past _this_. It's us — her and me — just eyes on eyes and a lot said with nothin' spoken.

_Maybe Charlotte is right. Maybe I do feel somethin' — just a little somethin'._

I've got to look away.

Alice shifts before I do, eyes darting down to the floor. She clears her throat. "I should go back to the house," Alice quietly tells me. "It looks like I've got a very early day tomorrow. _Lots of work to do_."

I nod my head. "Of course," I say. I don't want Alice to leave, but I certainly know the value of a good sleep. Besides — a little space might be good. I feel like all the air around us has been replaced by somethin' much heavier, much harder to contain in my lungs. Every passin' second she's right there, it's a little harder to breathe. It takes a moment to collect my calm, but I eventually find it in me to look at Alice again.

I expect to look 'n find her standin', ready to leave, but the little woman is still seated firmly at my side. She flushes when I notice her there, hands flutterin' around. Alice seems nervous. I'm about to ask her what's wrong, when —

"Listen — you don't think you could drive me into town bright and early tomorrow morning, _do you_? I think I've got some shoe shopping to do."

My face erupts into a smile. "Yeah," I say, "_I can do that_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's chapter four for you! All these songs I've been using so far are up on twiwrites.tumblr.com if anyone wants to listen! :) :)


	5. Filling in the Blanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Just wanted to pop in at the top of this chapter to explain that this bit is kind of split into two mini chapters. We've got Alice's POV first, and then Jasper's down below! These conversations happen at around the same time, so I thought I'd put them in together.
> 
> death mention tw for this chap!
> 
> ** also, sorry to anyone looking forward to the shoe shopping! I heard back from a few of you that you were looking forward to that! It was just neeever in the cards for these two :D

_ **CHAPTER FIVE** _

* * *

_He doesn't know the troubled story_  
that he's written himself into;  
he doesn't know he's just a place for you to hide.

_You ought to tell him:_  
best of luck, man,  
roll tide.

_(Roll Tide, Dawes)_

* * *

TUESDAY**  
ALICE**

I don't know how to explain what happened last night.

After my conversation with Carlisle and dinner with Jasper, something changed in me. Something was lost — or gained, maybe. Whatever it is, I woke up this morning feeling, for the first time in my reachable memory, like I could exist in my own body without the incessant scream of anxiety shaking my core.

This feeling — it feels a lot like what I picture serenity to be. I want to exist in this for as long as I possibly can, though I'm sure my time is running out.

I try my best to pinpoint when this good feeling started. I certainly felt it last night, when I floated back to my room after dinner. I felt it curled up at Jasper's side in the mess hall, for sure. I try to convince myself that it was my phone call home long before that — that Carlisle's reassuring words and Esme's contagious positivity brought me this feeling of calm.

My little family pep rally did help, I'm sure, but deep down I know that how I'm feeling right now has a lot to do with that look in Jasper's eyes last night.

He watched me so intently, like I was made of something more miraculous than skin and bone. Like I was magic, or impossible, or some kind of art. His eyes on me felt like some insane, wonderful kind of recharge. Like if Jasper watched me long enough, he might heal every tired cell in my aching body.

If I'm being honest with myself, I liked it. I liked it so much. Those eyes had me feeling drunk — floating on air — like I could trust Jasper to lead me anywhere.

Jasper.

_Jasper._

The name flings itself around my brain like its trying to break loose. It's distracting. I can't get anything done when I keep stopping to think about his tanned, muscular arms or those gold ringlets, or those eyes. Again — I keep coming back to those honey-coloured eyes.

The thought of his face keeps pulling me away from the array of makeup I've set out on the bathroom counter.

_What is wrong with me? Why can't I get Jasper out of my head? Why am I so excited to see him?_ We've barely shared a hundred words and still, my heart is like a live wire, flicking with electricity and ready to erupt. All because of him.

I consider my options, fluctuating between wanting to spend the next hour putting on makeup and fixing my hair, getting myself perfectly together for our morning outing, or giving in — going as is — so I can take advantage of every minute I've got with my handsome cowboy.

_Screw it_, I think, _I'm going now_.

I pick up a chapstick and throw some on as I head for the door.

The house is silent and still around me — so settled you could see dust hanging lazily in the air. I feel like a tornado ripping through it, stirring up the stillness around me. I take the the grand staircase two steps at a time and all but run towards the back door.

In my head, it's all still: _Jasper! Jasper! Jasper!, _like I'm some lovesick schoolgirl.

I get outside and a burst of impossibly hot air hits my face. The hum of cicadas surrounds me, along with the chatter horses and men in the distance. It's a strangely welcoming kind of noise, but unexpected considering the early hour. Everyone is awake, it seems, except for the sun. I can't even imagine how hot it's going to be once she wakes up, too.

Outside, I take the dirt path towards the _paddock_ — a word Jasper taught me yesterday — sitting closest to the main barn. It's only a two minute walk, but in the time I move, the sun creeps above the treetops, hitting everything with a warm glow. This place is beautiful first thing in the morning — it's still and dewey and _quiet, _which is something I'll never find in New York. During my short walk I decide that I'll wake up early tomorrow, too. I'll enjoy the peace that comes with these sleepy, vacant mornings.

Peter is standing by the paddock. He's got his back leaned against it, and a cup of coffee up to his lips. I smile in his direction and wave as I walk closer.

"G'morning Miss Alice," Peter says.

"Hi Peter," I cheerfully reply. His sleepy voice puts a smile on my face. With puffy eyes and that groggy voice, he almost seems childlike.

"You ready to go?" He asks me.

I nod my head, lifting my purse strap higher on my shoulder. "All set," I say. Then — like I have no patience for small talk and _no filter whatsoever_ — I blatantly ask, "where's Jasper?"

"Oh —"

My posture stiffens.

"Miss Alice, I'm sorry. Whit got called into an emergency 'bout forty-five minutes ago. I just heard from Quil that he's still goin'na need most of the morning, too. I thought he told you."

_Jasper certainly hadn't told me_. It's hard not to let this influx of information shake that good mood I've been enjoying all morning, but I try my best, forcing my smile to stay in place. _Maybe I had missed a note!_ I was so excited to get outside and find Jasper that I hadn't bothered to look.

Once I contain my disappointment over Jasper's no-show, I move on to what should've been my most pressing concern.

"Emergency?" I ask, shuffling closer to Peter. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Peter insists. "We're just in a bit of a _difficult labour situation_."

"Labour? Labour like _work,_ or —?"

"No ma'am," Peter says with a chuckle. "Like a birth. We got a mare up in the north paddock who went into labour early this mornin' and it's just been complication after complication. The vet's here now but Whit can't quite leave."

Well._ That's an excuse I've never heard before._

"He asked me if I could take ya," Peter continues on. "If you're alright with that, of course. If you can't get Whit I'm the next best thing, promise. I've got a license and I can take ya wherever you need to go."

Part of me wants to turn down Peter's offer. He wouldn't mind, I'm sure. He'd probably be relieved. But maybe — just maybe — I can get the same information from Peter I would've gotten from Jasper. Maybe I can learn _more_ this way. What better way to learn about a man than through their right hand?

As I consider my options, I chew at my inner cheek.

Peter watches me, brows raised, and keeps sipping at his mug of coffee. "I don't got all day," he says.

"Alright," I say, accepting the man's offer. _It's better than nothing_. "Lead on, Hoke."

"Pardon me?"

"_Driving Miss Daisy?_"

Peter looks lost.

I don't find it in me to speak until we're half way into town. Peter's got the radio on quietly and the windows down. I think he's humming along with the half-spoken country song playing through the speakers, but it's hard to hear against the wind rushing through the car.

Peter is quiet, and seems to appreciate me staying just the same.

I do, for the first half of our drive, but with each passing minute the silence gets more uncomfortable. I'm too curious to let this ride pass by without learning _anything_ about my hosts. _Or one host in particular._

I clear my throat and ask, "so — how long have you and Jasper been running this place?"

Peter glances at me, then back at the road. He leans his elbow out the window and shifts his hand on the steering wheel before speaking. "Almost a year now," Peter tells me.

"You both seem awful young to have so much responsibility," I chide.

Peter chuckles. "Yeah," he says, "maybe. Didn't have much choice in the matter."

"What happened?" I ask, so close to the answers I'm craving.

Peter takes a good, hard look at me. I can see the wheels turning in his brain, trying to process whether or not I'm a trustworthy vessel for information. I don't know what he sees, but Peter must decide it's good.

"Well," Peter says, letting out a heavy sigh, "it was always gonna be this way, you know? Me 'n Jasper takin' over. It was always in the cards. But when Mr. Whitlock got sick, it sort of accelerated things."

"Oh," I say. I don't know what I expected to hear, but Peter's answer sits heavy on my heart. "I didn't realize —"

"Yeah," Peter mutters. "So when he passed away, y'know, we expected it, but Whit 'n I were nowhere near prepared. Thought we had more time, y'know? And now, well — we're still learnin', really. Probably will be for awhile. We've got my Dad, at least. Bless his heart."

I nod my head and unthinking, I ask, "what about Jasper's mum? She must be a help —"

Peter shaking his head stops my speech.

"No?" I ask, that hole in the pit of my gut growing wider.

"No. She passed when we were all young. Five or six, I think. It's just us."

So he's alone.

_Like me._

I stop the thought dead in its tracks. Jasper had lost his family. I'd _found_ mine. If Carlisle and Esme ever knew I had such a thought, they'd be gutted. They are my family. _Carlisle, Esme, Edward_ — I'm endlessly lucky to have them.

_I'm not alone, and I never will be_. That's the Cullen company line. I've heard it almost daily since I first met them. Hell, I heard it more than once _last night_, when I called home to unpack my awful day. I'm grateful for their trying. It's a never-ending job, curving my paranoia, and the Cullens are surprisingly good at it. They'll never let me forget I'm a part of the family. Being far from that family and my usual routine always opens old wounds. I've been anxious and short tempered ever since I left New York and it's certainly not a fitting look.

" — Maybe don't tell 'im I told you that," Peter blurts out, distracting me from an intense wave of homesickness.

I force a little smile on my face. "Don't worry. I won't say a word."

Peter visibly relaxes beside me, his body sinking into the driver's seat. I copy his posture, turning to face the road in front of us again. We're much closer to town now, little old houses sprouting up on each side of the road.

"If it's any consolation, I think you guys are doing a great job," I tell Peter.

We keep the conversation light after that. _I think I've learned enough for one morning._

* * *

TUESDAY_  
_**JASPER**

Ginger is nervous. I can feel it in how she moves — all jolty and too fast, like she's got somewhere to be and no idea where. I cleaned up real good, but she can probably still smell all the hormones and pheromones I caught hanging around during Cinnamon's labour this morning.

I run a hand down her muscular neck, patiently waiting at the horses' side until she grows used to me bein' around.

" 'S okay, sweetheart," I coo. Ginger huffs in response, lowering her head to my level. "She's alright, we'll have Cinn and the foal back in here by tomorrow."

I probably look ridiculous, mutterin' to the horses day in and out, but it's one trick I know to work better than anythin' else. Horses can sense what you're feelin' and they soak it up like sponges, but I've always thought the same about our words. Maybe they don't know what I'm sayin', but they sure as Hell can sense what I'm tryin' to convey. This is no different. Ginger settles under my hand, and once she does I go about gettin' her saddled up for the day.

We make our way out of the stable into the bright early morning. It's hot as sin outside today, so hot I can feel my hair gluein' to my skin only seconds after we get outside. Heat like this means everyone will be runnin' on fumes. We'll have to stop more frequently to water the horses and _ourselves_, and the boys will all be out of steam come early afternoon. It'll be up to me to make up the difference, to make sure everythin' still gets done when the men give up.

_Man, I hope Alice doesn't keep Peter in town for long. We're gonna need his particular brand of work ethic today._

I let ginger do a few laps around the paddock by herself. She trots off, stretching out her muscles after a long night in the pen. I lean against the fence, keepin' my distance as she wanders off.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone walkin' up towards me. When I notice who it is — that photographer who's stayin' here with Alice — I straighten up quick and nod in his direction. Ginger slows to a stop at my side and I mindlessly grab hold of her reins, keepin' her in place.

"Jasper," he says.

_What the Hell is this guys name_? I rack my brain, hopin' the blonde doesn't notice my hesitation in the time it takes me to remember: "_James_. How you doin'?"

"Do you know if Alice is back yet?" James asks me. He hovers a few feet away.

"Not yet," I tell him. "Shouldn't be too long. Her and Peter left real early this mornin'."

James chuffs, a hand comin' up to run through his choppy blonde hair. He actually smiles. _Might be the first time I've seen him do that_. "You don't know Alice," James says. "If she's out shopping, they could be gone all day — _all week_ if there's a good sale."

"Well, I'll let you know if I see 'em before you do." I turn to go back to my work.

"Actually —"

I turn back around to face James. The man is slowly stalkin' towards me, an expression on his face that could be closely related to nervous. I don't say anythin', but I raise an eyebrow in question.

"I was meaning to ask you something."

My heart all but drops out my ass.

"What's up?" I ask, tryin' hard to mask how nervous James' question makes me.

"I was trying to plan a nice dinner and I was wondering if you uh, knew any nice places around here I could like, you know, take a _date_."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, tryin' not to react to the alarm bells ringin' wildly in my head. I know who James' is talkin' about - I saw how he was lookin' at Alice last night - but I don't want it to be true.

I don't need a clarifier, but I still find myself askin': "you goin' out with one of the models?" I'm so pathetically hopeful.

"Alice," James confirms, twistin' the knife in my gut. "This whole trip is a big deal, you know. Her finally being here and doing this is — I want to — I don't know." A big, goofy smile crosses the man's face. I want to hate him, but he seems so genuinely happy to even be thinkin' of Alice. I can't blame him for that. I've been smilin' just the same since I met her.

"I just think it's time, finally," he says.

"You two known each other for awhile?" I ask, tryin' to keep the man talkin' so I can think of how to best move forward. _Do I give him a good tip? Do I help this man on his quest to woo the beautiful woman I want, but will never have?_

"Two years now. I did a shoot with _Free People_ and Alice was interning with their design team at the time. We just kinda hit it off, you know? I don't know. She's such a passionate person, it's hard to keep from wanting to be around that all the time."

I know exactly what James is talkin' about. Alice has an energy about her I've never seen in another person. She's like a wildfire and an undertow all at once — bright, powerful, demandin'. You simply can't ignore a presence like that.

"We've both been so work oriented, but I think we're both in a place where I should — you know — finally tell her what I've been, you know, _feeling_."

I reach out a hand and pat along Ginger's warm neck, scrambling' to get a better grip on her reigns. Lookin' busy is better than tryin' to find something to say to the bumbling man.

"So, what do you think?"

_What do I think?_ I think I've caught a crush on a girl I don't have a chance with. I think I've got the power to unravel her future with the man standing before me, if I wanted to, all with one terrible recommendation.

I think I want to punch him square in the face — that one comes to mind quick after I picture what'd happen if their date went _well_.

"Uh, yeah," I say, brows furrowing together. _What was James' question again?_

"Anywhere good nearby? Or in town, I guess. There's got to be somewhere."

_Be the bigger person_, I tell myself. "Yeah. Yes. Uh, Giovanni's is pretty good, if you want like, classic Italian," I tell James. "Or — there's this place called Mickey's. Sounds lame but it's really nice inside."

_So I won't get the girl. I never really thought I would._

Like I told Charlotte last night — whether or not I find Alice wildly attractive has nothing to do with the fact that we've got no future. She's leavin' come Sunday and I'll be right here, like I always am. James is part of Alice's world. James gets to take her home … in more ways than one. He's the right choice.

"Mickey's?" James clarifies.

I nod my head. I even smile.

"Cool, that's perfect," James says. He tugs his phone out of his pocket and starts to type — I assume he's lookin' up my suggestions.

The sound of tires on gravel grabs our attention. We both look up to see Peter's truck rollin' down the driveway way off in the distance.

"Speak of the Devil," I say.

"We should go say hi," James tells me. I can sense how excited he is to get to Alice's side. "I've got to see what kind of damage Alice did," he says, before letting out a laugh.

"Sure," I say, standing still as James turns his body to watch the truck slow to a stop. He tucks his phone away and idly starts to wander in that direction, wavin' for me to follow along.

"You go ahead. I'll meet you over there," I easily lie. James takes my suggestion.

I realize that I'm mournin' something _I never even had_ when I see Alice climb down out of Peter's truck. Her short black hair flaps around in the wind, just like the light coloured top she's wearing. Even from a distance, Alice looks beautiful. Something aches in my chest. That ache gets louder when I notice a pair of brown cowboy boots at the ends of Alice's legs. She looks so damn cute and I've got no right to be lookin'.

Peter helps Alice unload bag after bag from the back of the truck, all printed with the same strange logo from our local shoe store. A smile breaks across my face. _How many pairs of boots did the woman buy? One for every day of the week, at least._

I need to get to work. I need to wipe the damn smile off my face. But I don't do any of that. I stand in place and keep watchin' Alice, like she's the most entertainin' thing around here.

She all but skips down the path with Peter in tow, talkin' her mouth off a mile a minute. Alice looks happier than I've ever seen, and that good mood hits me hard even from this distance, knocking the wind clear out of my lungs. I want to run over and soak up all that joy.

_James is one lucky man._

I watch as the photographer approaches Alice and raises his hands in question. He motions towards all of Alice's shopping bags — of which there are far too many - and Alice lifts the bag she has in her right hand in response. When James gets closer, Alice hurls the bag in the man's direction with a grand sort of motion.

James drops his hands and shakes his head before reaching to take the bag out of Alice's waiting hand. When he does, a grin blooms across Alice's face, brightenin' the whole world around her. It must affect James same as it does me, because the man forcibly lifts Alice off the ground and spins her around. I can hear her fit of laughter clear as day.

_Enough is enough_, I think. _I can't watch this anymore._

But I do. I stay and watch as Alice flings an arm around James' neck and holds on for dear life.

_Why am I'm such a fucking masochist?_


	6. Before Any of Us

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

_We lay here for years or for hours_  
_Your hand in my hand_  
_So still and discreet_  
_So long we become the flowers_  
_We'd feed well the land_  
_And worry the sheep_

_And they'd find us in a week_

_(In a Week, Hozier)_

* * *

TUESDAY _  
_**ALICE**

My team is all smiles when I gift them each with a pair of genuine leather cowboy boots. It's a larger-than-life purchase on Carlisle's plastic, but I know he'll forgive me. It's been a long time since I've gone overboard shopping. _Besides, only one of the pairs are actually for me_. There's no way Carlisle — Dr. Generous himself — will begrudge my _giving spirit_.

In fact, I'm sure he'll be just as thrilled as I am.

Our shoot goes seamlessly after the addition of proper footwear. Jasper's suggestion works without a hitch, helping us through all types of terrain without a single issue. We all manage to stay upright, and any mud that gets kicked up just slides off the polished leather. We're all clean, and comfortable, and happy.

It's a long day, but a great one. I hand out my optimism like it'll never run out, cheering my team along until we collect all the shots we had planned for today, and most of the looks we missed yesterday, too. It's a freakin' miracle.

The boots even make it into most of the shots. I think, _Hell, why not? They compliment my designs strangely well. I like how they look. _Then, I think,_ Jasper will like them, too._

That alone is enough to justify the purchase.

When we're all done for the day and back at the ranch, I volunteer to stay back at the cabins to get our equipment put away while the others head off to dinner. It'll add an extra ten minutes to my day, but ensures that everything is done properly.

Besides — when I'm done, I'll have the time, the quiet, and the privacy to start uploading images onto James' laptop. I'll be able to see how everything turned out without having _anyone_ breathing over my shoulder.

_I'll miss dinner, but_ _I'm not that hungry anyways_.

James insists on staying to help me. I turn his offer down, more than once. If James stays, I'll get his immediate judgement on the pictures we took today. I appreciate the man's artistic vision, of course, but there's something to be said about having time _alone_ with my designs before someone drops in to start complaining about the exposure, or the rule of thirds, or whatever.

As I'm cleaning up, I notice we've got everything — cameras, stands, lighting meters — _everything_ except our first memory card; the one we filled before switching to the card currently in the camera.

I check James' camera bag first, to no avail. I check the ground around me, my purse, pockets, my usual tote bag filled with necessities — _nothing._

_Okay_, I think. _It's okay. Keep calm. You'll find it. Check again._

When I come up empty handed a second time, the loud _tick, tick, tick_ of my panicked heart starts ringing in my ears.

_Think, Alice. Think! Where'd you put the card when James handed it to you?_

I remember being in the field. I remember that we moved to a spot by the river for awhile, right when the sun was setting._ I think that's when James gave me the card. But where'd I put it? _I rack my brain for answers until I have the vague recollection of throwing the card in my tote bag — the one I'd already checked multiple times.

It's a hard realization to swallow, but I know, deep down, that the stupid little square isn't here. People have been in and out of my tote all day. It's been dragged from location to location, and dropped carelessly on the ground more than once.

Which means the memory card must be _out there_ somewhere. It got knocked out, or fell out, but it's certainly not _here_.

I've got to go find it. James made the memory card my responsibility. If I lost it — especially after the catastrophe that was yesterday — I'm going to look like a damn idiot not only to him, but the entirety of our group. _That just won't do._

So — with my phone in hand and boots on my feet, I make my way back out into the twilight.

_I'll check the path, I'll check the field, and I'll check by the river. If I can't find the card in any of those spots, I'll give up,_ I tell myself, _but at the very least you've got to try._

About half way to the path I'm looking for, I hear the unmistakable click of hooves on the ground behind me. For a split second I'm spooked out of my skin — convinced that an animal is charging at me — and I jump a foot forward before finding the courage to glance over my shoulder.

"Hey! Alice!"

_It's just Jasper._

I stop moving, trying desperately to regain my calm.

Jasper is sitting atop a horse that's much taller than me. He makes a low, throaty noise and the beautiful, chestnut coloured beast comes to a halt only a few feet away.

Before today, the word '_cowboy_' hadn't meant anything to me, past the outfit. It was all theoretical.

But somewhere between Jasper's early morning emergency, dropping a small fortune in a '_cowboy town_', spending a second afternoon with Seth, and this: witnessing Jasper perched atop a horse like it's his main method of transportation — which I realize it very well might be — 'cowboy' has become a very real, tangible thing.

_An attractive thing_.

My eyes are tacked to Jasper's form as he dismounts his horse, pulling it towards me by the reins.

The horse is huge, intimidatingly so. Its big black eyes are level with my forehead and unreadable in the early evening dark. Its shoulders are high above mine. I take a hesitant step back.

Jasper doesn't notice my caution. Or if he does, he's kind enough not to mention it.

The blonde man hangs the reigns over a nearby fencepost and wipes his hands together before turning back to face me. I've been silent this whole time, mesmerized by his actions.

"I've been lookin' for you all afternoon. I thought I might find you at dinner," Jasper tells me. "I was just gonna go check there for you now."

I stay glued to my spot, unsure what to do except let the man approach me.

I expect to be overwhelmed by his annoyingly confident presence, like I have been since the first time we met, but something about the dynamic between us has shifted. Like maybe — somehow — _he's the one who's nervous._

I've learned so much about Jasper since last night, all without seeing his face once. I look at the blonde now and the angelic enigma I once saw has been replaced by someone human — a flawed human, at that. Jasper is formidable — tall, body hard as stone — but now I can see all his wounds, too. I see a little boy still struggling with loss — I see a man mourning his family, slowly crumbling to the ground as he tries to carry their impossible dream on his tired shoulders. I see the cracks in his confidence, the tired in his eyes. I can see how vulnerable he is.

_Like me._

_Like anyone_.

"You're lucky you caught me," I tell him. I'd be surprised if Jasper heard any of it — my voice is barely above a croak.

Jasper smiles and it nearly knocks me off balance. He reaches one hand up and takes off his hat, bringing it to rest down at his side. It's a show of respect, I think. It feels like it. His smile spreads wider across his face. The sight of him keeps messing with my balance, but before I fall flat on my face, Jasper turns his head down and I find a moment to catch myself.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Jasper says, all bashful. He toes at the dirt.

"Oh." I stand a little taller. "That's okay," I tell him, reaching up to fidget with my hair. "Peter took me."

"He did," Jasper confirms, eyes darting up just briefly to meet mine. "Tells me you bought up half the store."

I laugh, and Jasper follows in my lead.

"Yeah," I quietly say. "Something like that." My voice has disappeared into the fluttering pit that was once my stomach, and I think my brain might disappear next. I feel pretty pathetic, standing here with nothing to say. All I can do is watch him.

The only good news is that Jasper is just as quiet.

After a very pregnant pause, I manage: "Peter told me you had a bit of a ranch _emergency_ this morning."

_Thank God — there's my voice!_

"Yeah — something like that," Jasper echoes. After a beat, he keeps talking, running fast through his words. "If you can wait half a minute I'll put Ginger away 'n we can walk up to the mess hall together. I'll tell you all about it."

"Oh. I'll — I can — I can just meet you there," I struggle to say. "I left something out in the field, so I'm going to go out there first and then I'll meet everyone."

"You goin' by yourself?" Jasper questions, sounding apprehensive.

I tilt my head, arch an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah?"

"In the dark?"

I nod my head and Jasper lets out a breathy laugh, blonde curls falling into his face when he shakes his head side to side. Jasper shifts back and forth on his feet and worries his lips together, like there's something he's trying to keep from saying.

"_What?_" I ask, crossing my arms indignantly.

"You're just — you never do what I expect of ya," Jasper tells me, all matter-of-fact. "Smaller than a tick 'n you're out here just —" he chuckles again, unable to finish a single thought.

I have no clue what to say. My mouth pops open in utter disbelief as Jasper simply turns away, muttering and chuckling to himself. He saunters back over to the horse, and once he's with the animal— _Ginger's _— Jasper turns back to face to a _very petrified_ me.

"Well come on, then," he says. "We can take ya — but I don't want to miss all of dinner, so let's go."

It takes a moment for me to piece together what Jasper is suggesting. I look between him and the horse as he unhooks it from the fence, moving the reins over to the back of its neck. "Oh, no," I sternly reply. "No, _thank you_, but I'm fine. I can walk."

_There's no way in Hell I'm getting on that horse_.

"That's a ten minute walk at least," Jasper reminds me, "three minutes on horse."

"I'm fine."

" … You're a-ok walkin' _alone, in the dark,_ into a field full of God-knows-what, but you're afraid of gettin' on this here horse? I ain't ever met a woman with your sensibilities."

"_I'm not afraid_," I throw back, lying through my teeth. _Who comes to a ranch when they're literally afraid of horses?_

"Oh sure you ain't — and I bet you thought all about facin' nature at night, too. Ready to right hook a coyote if you need to, huh?"

Jasper has a fantastic point, but I can't have him knowing that I hadn't thought about coyotes. Or snakes. Or bugs. Or whatever else lies in the Texas wilderness come nightfall. The thought of coming face to face with a natural born predator raises goosebumps across my skin.

Still, I feign confidence. "Right," I insist. "I just like to walk."

"Right," Jasper agrees, playing into my righteous lie. "So you don't mind if I ride alongside you, then?"

"No," I say, head held high. "Not at all."

" — Because it'd be _irresponsible_ for me to let you go alone, y'know, and I certainly don't feel like walkin' all that way."

"I respect that," I say casually.

Internally, I'm anything but calm. I've been waiting for this alone time with Jasper since I woke up first thing this morning. Even if he is teasing me and insisting on riding that _thing_, I'll take whatever time I can get.

Jasper throws me a quick smile and then easily makes his way back up onto the horse.

When Ginger begins to move and I startle again, Jasper lets out a throaty laugh. "She's not gonna hurt ya," he promises. "_Ging_ is just about the sweetest thing 'round here."

I keep my distance anyways. Ginger and I will — respectfully — remain unacquainted.

We walk in silence for a minute, the only sounds in my universe the rhythmic click of Ginger beside me and the humming of cicadas I've grown so accustomed to. It's alright, really, being this close to the horse. She hasn't caused any trouble, and her huffing breath is proving to be rather soothing. I could get use to her company, given the time. Her and I are almost on good terms.

Jasper and I? That's a different story. I have no idea where we stand. We've both been quiet and as we walk towards the fields, that doesn't seem to change.

_I wonder if he's alright. I wonder if he's upset. I wonder if he's tired. I wonder if he _sees_ me, like I see him. I want to know everything he's thinking._

"So — what are you gonna do with all those boots?" Jasper eventually asks me, clearing his throat before he does.

I start to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that's been hanging between us. "They're not _all for me_, Jasper," I explain.

"You sure? You could just go ahead 'n wear one pair every day of the week. I'm sure you got enough."

I shake my head. Blush floods my face and thankfully, it's hidden by the darkness.

"I did, in fact," I say, " but like I said, they're not all for me. I got a pair for everyone on the team."

"_Jesus Christ_," Jasper mutters. "I was bein' facetious! You're telling' me you got eight pairs of cowboy boots?"

"Hell yes I did," I proudly say. Jasper starts to laugh. "You really stimulated the local economy with your suggestion, I hope you know."

"Didn't expect that," Jasper said. "Wasn't even sure you'd buy _one_ pair."

"I'm a sucker for a good shoe."

"No kiddin'," Jasper plainly says.

I turn turn and throw the man a grateful smile.

Jasper isn't looking in my direction, but I don't mind. It's nice to just watch him like this, in his natural habitat. We fall back into silence, but this one I like. This one feels like an understanding between friends — like two people committed to savouring one moment.

Through the darkness, I can make out that we've made it to the field I'd been working in earlier today.

"We were over there," I say, pointing to the large expanse of grass just past the small pasture we stand beside.

Jasper makes that same low noise he made earlier — the throaty, warm one that hits me straight in the gut — and the horse slows to a stop beside me. Jasper dismounts, never releasing her reins as he maneuvers them over her long face. He leads Ginger along and I just stand and watch for a good, full second before thinking to join them.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and see I've got five missed calls, mostly from various members of my group. _They're probably just wondering where you are_, I tell myself, and decide to forgo checking the messages. Instead, I open the flashlight on my phone and turn it to the ground, scanning the grass from the second we step out into it.

"What exactly are we lookin' for?" Jasper asks me.

"It's a memory card."

Jasper stops dead in his tracks.

"Wait — what?"

"You know, like, for cameras? It's a little black square thingy —"

"I know what a damn memory card is, Alice," Jasper groans out. "You lost your memory card out here? You've literally got me lookin' for a needle in a haystack …_ in the dark_?"

I don't know if I go white as a ghost or red as a lobster, but my reaction elicits a hysterical kind of laugh from Jasper.

"You're a crazy woman," he snarks.

"I didn't know it was going to get this dark that fast!" I retort, biting my lip to smother a nervous smile. "I think you're forgetting that I live in _New York City_. You go outside at any hour and it's bright as day."

"That sounds miserable," Jasper says.

"_Well, it'd certainly be helpful right about now._"

Jasper huffs at me. "I don't think we're gonna be back in time for dinner," he says. His words are far from angry.

"You can go back if you want to!" I playfully argue. "I never _asked_ you to come."

Jasper just waves me off and takes off walking further into the deep grass. Ginger patiently walks along beside him. "You're gonna need more than one light," he retorts, right before he pulls a phone out of his jeans.

I can't help the laugh that bubbles out from my lips when I see Jasper interacting with modern technology.

"What are you laughin' at?" He asks, turning to face me.

_You can't tell him the stupid thought that just ran through your head. No way!_

"Nothing," I say, rather unconvincingly.

Jasper turns on his phone's flashlight and flashes it directly on me, like I'm being interrogated. "What is it?" He pushes.

Sheepishly — very sheepishly — I duck my head against the light and say: " it's just… you have a phone."

Jasper's face twists in confusion. His brows pull together. His lips purse. He glances down to the device in his hand and then back at me, like he's expecting a further explanation.

So I say, "it kind of ruins the whole — y'know — genuine cowboy experience."

Jasper's expression softens into absolute delight.

"Oh really?" He asks me, and I can hear him suppressing a laugh. "Were you expectin' to travel back in time during this '_genuine cowboy experience_' of yours? I don't want to shock you, Miss Alice, but we've all moved into the modern age. We've all got phones. Even have e-mail accounts" Jasper jokes. "Hell — once I was lucky enough to see an iPad up close!"

I stare at the ground, wishing it'd swallow me whole. I'm blushing so hard I think I might burst.

"Yeah, yeah," I lamely say. "Get your jokes in while you can, 'cause if I don't find this memory card, James is going to _kill_ me."

"… Oh, I really don't think he will."

"Then you don't know James," I unconsciously shoot back.

"Darlin', I know way more than I need to."

_What does that mean?_

I quicken my pace, eventually making up the distance between us. I eye Jasper quizzically, hoping it's enough to prompt him further. The man doesn't say anything. He doesn't look my way. Jasper just keeps walking, flashing his light across the ground.

"Where exactly do you think this thing is?" He asks. "Are we checkin' every inch of this field, or have you got some basic idea of where we're goin'?"

His question deserves an answer, but I feel I need one first. "Wait — what does that mean?" I tentatively ask.

Jasper stalls and so does Ginger. "What does_ what _mean?"

"That you know_ 'way more than you need to_' about James."

Jasper takes a beat before answering. "Oh," he says, giving a quick shake of his head. "Nothin', nothin'. I just mean — he respects you. You're his boss, right? Not a good idea to kill the woman signing your paycheque."

I accept Jasper's half-assed answer, but something about it doesn't sit right. It's certainly not convincing enough to erase the words from my mind. _I know way more than I need to_, he said. _What does that mean? More than I need to_.

"So where are we goin'?" Jasper asks again.

I abandon my curiosity — for now — and direct Jasper towards a crooked tree sitting lonesome in the field.

Together, we search around the tree from its deep rooted, wide trunk outwards, inch by inch.

The memory card is nowhere to be found and the world has gone so completely dark that I've given up trying to guess how long we've been outside. I've started to judge the passage of time through mosquito bites — I think we're at a few dozen now. That's what? _An hour? Two?_ _It feels like an eternity._

Jasper is being incredibly patient, searching the dense grass so furiously that his brows might be permanently furrowed above his eyes, but I've started to hemorrhage hope.

I'm on my knees, checking around the base of the tree again, when a stone digs into my kneecap. I groan out and shift back, moving rather unceremoniously to sit on my backside.

I lose my cool.

"This is pointless!" I huff, tossing my phone into the grass.

Jasper doesn't so much as flinch at my outburst, only turning his eyes to meet me. "I'm sure we'll find it, Alice! Maybe not right now, but it _will_ show up," Jasper tries, his drawl as slow and soothing as ever.

"We've been at it for hours!" I argue.

Jasper chuckles. He glances over at Ginger, her head bowed as she grazes the grass a few feet away, and then turns to face me.

"Then we might as well keep goin' until we make somethin' of it, right? Can't give up now."

"But you think this whole search is pointless, don't you?"

It's a fair question.

Jasper pulls the hat hear wears off his head just long enough to run a hand through his gorgeous curls. He sets the hat back in place, sighs out heavy, and starts walking in my direction.

"No," he says. "I don't." Jasper plops down at my side. He places both his hands behind himself and leans his weight back, head upturned to watch the sky. "— But I still think this would've been a Hell of a lot easier to do by the light of day," he reluctantly admits.

"Yeah," I cautiously agree. "In retrospect, you might be right about that one." After a moment, I chuckle, adding: "and you thought I'd figured out how to listen to you."

He laughs again. "I have a feelin' that's not in your nature."

"You might be right about that," I weakly explain. "I'm too impatient."

"Determined," Jasper says. "You're _determined_."

The world falls quiet again. Jasper and I sit totally content in the darkness, letting the grass embrace our weight and the bugs nip at our skin.

I take the opportunity to look around our surroundings. The space looks so different in the dark — so empty. Without the light of the sun, or the bright blue of the sky, or the hustle and bustle of my models, this little space feels like it could exist within a black hole; like the dark curtain of trees in the distance is one edge of my universe, the endless night sky another.

With nothing else to look at, I find myself copying Jasper's position, turning my eyes up to the blanket of stars above us. They look like little dots of light splattered carelessly across the sky.

We just sit like that for awhile, watching the stars watch us.

Part of me just wants to stay here — to let the ground swallow me whole. It feels right; like we were meant to disappear into the ground right under this old tree.

"Do you ever wonder what this place looked like before any of us were here?" I ask, never shifting all the while.

"All the time," Jasper softly answers.

I turn my head to glance in his direction, only to see that Jasper is watching me.

Even when I catch him, Jasper just keeps watching. He doesn't blink, or move, or smile — he just stares. I fidget under his intense gaze, something churning deep in my stomach. I'm not uncomfortable — _no_ — I love the way he watches me. It sets every inch of my skin on fire.

"I'm sure it was peaceful," I delicately add, hoping that my voice might break the tension between us.

"Still is," Jasper replies.

I try again: "I bet this tree was here first, before anything else."

Jasper tears his eyes off of me, and I'm finally able to breathe again. Freed from his trance, Jasper glances at the tree we're sitting under. His face lifts into a smile.

"It's been around since before I was born," he tells me, "I'm sure of it. That tree's been here long as I can remember. Like most things 'round these parts — it just shows up 'n stays put."

"What if we stayed put out here?" I ask, letting my hands graze over the grass around us. "How long do you think it'd take before anyone found us?"

Jasper goes quiet, giving my question the weighty consideration it deserves. "Why — you plannin' on givin' up?" Jasper finally asks, chuckling.

"Considering it," I sigh. "It's been a long day."

He breathes out a sympathetic sigh.

"Well it's not over yet. We've still got a heck of a lot of searchin' to do, right?"

I don't want to leave our spot here, but Jasper is already standing. He reaches a well-worked hand towards me and I take it, letting his long fingers curl around my own. Heat rises up my arm, flooding my chest every second his touch lingers. When I'm up and sturdy on my feet, I drop his hand fast.

Now I'm standing only inches away from Jasper. My eyes are level with his chest and up close, he smells like the dirt we've been digging through, and sunscreen, and mint — not toothpaste, but the leaves. I want to lurch forward and press my nose into his shirt, just so I can inhale that scent deep into my lungs. I'm sure that mint has never smelled so good.

I don't know many things about myself, but I know one thing for sure — I'm falling hard and fast for a man I barely know.

Jasper clears his throat and I snap my head up, straining to meet his gaze.

"You said y'all went down by the river, too?" Jasper gently asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say, breathless. "Just down that way a little."

I take a full step back, eyes darting down to the ground. I find my phone where I'd tossed it on the ground and I move to pick it up. The yellowed glow of my flashlight disturbs the dreamy, peaceful nighttime around us.

"Then it's got to be there," Jasper decides.

He leaves my side to collect Ginger, and the three of us continue onwards. There's a little forest at the far end of the field, and Jasper — after pointlessly trying to debate it with me — decides to leave Ginger there rather than bring her through the woods to the rocky river's edge.

We cross through the barrier of trees on the far end of the field by ourselves, and delve in to a cacophony of new sounds. I can hear the river rushing like television static in the distance, the croaking of toads, the cooing of birds — the lifeblood running through this little thicket of forest impossible to ignore.

Something sounds above my head and I instinctively shift closer to Jasper's side, a surprised little yelp escaping my lips. I instinctually reach to grab his sleeve, but stop myself before making contact.

"That's just _an owl_," Jasper says, voice teasing. "Quite likely the least harmless thing you'll find out here."

"Great," I mutter. "Awesome."

We keep walking for a minute and the seemingly harmless path I'd come down only hours before has turned menacing. Fear slowly creeps through my system and I find myself asking, "are there really like, _coyotes_ out here?"

"Sure. Coyotes, snakes, porcupines, mountain lions …"

"Mountain lions!?" I quicken my pace, desperate to get through to the other side without becoming someone's dinner. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, unable to see the field we just came from. "Do you think Ginger's okay out there?"

Jasper hurries to match my pace and eventually walks right by me, stopping a few feet ahead so he can push a low-hanging tree branch up over our heads.

"She's fine," he in_sists, smiling. "I'd be more concerned about us right about now. We sure would make a tasty late night snack for a mountain lion_," he teases, lowering his head so he can whisper to me as I pass under his arm.

My heart quickens in my chest, pounding so hard I can feel the reverberations in my ears.

Something touches my side and I scream, lurching forward so fast I almost lose balance. Things scurry around us, frightened by the noise. I turn on my heel to investigate and find Jasper laughing, grinning ear to ear. His hand is _still_ raised from where he poked me in the side. _The ass_.

I throw a pout in his direction and keep marching on, praying to God that I don't step on a mouse or a toad or a freakin' snake in the process.

_This is harder than navigating Saks on Black Friday, _Ithink,_ but_ _at least I'm really making use of my new boots._

We make it out of the woods unscathed, now right by the river. I glance left and right, trying to decipher exactly where I'd been earlier in the day, but everything looks different here come nighttime.

It takes a little meandering, but I'm eventually able to source out a tree by a line of boulders I recognize. I dart in that direction and Jasper eagerly follows suit.

"It must be by those rocks!" I call out, remembering a moment in which I practically emptied out the tote bag there late this evening.

We both look around the rocks, until I see the tiniest glint of metal in the sand a few feet away.

My excitement bursts through in the form of an excited yelp. I hurry past Jasper and all but charge the ground, grabbing the measly little memory card in my dirty hands.

"Oh my God!" I screech, holding it up for Jasper to see. "I found it! I've got it!" I bring the little plastic card down to my lips and give it a big, dramatic kiss. _I'm so happy I could cry!_

I scramble up to my feet and jump towards Jasper, who's wearing that thousand-watt grin again. It takes all I have not to lurch forward and throw my arms around him. I'm forced to hold my excitement in, fidgeting weirdly on the spot.

"I knew you'd find it," he exclaims.

"You called it a needle in a haystack!" I argue, chuckling.

"Yeah, well, I like bettin' on the impossible," Jasper retorts, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

It settles me, but barely. The weight of Jasper's hand on my skin awakens _something else completely_ within me, something that doesn't foster stillness.

"Well, I'm lucky that you do," I say, smile growing. Then — without really thinking — I blurt out, "now all I need is a stiff drink and I can go to bed happy."

Jasper laughs, quickly replying: "I think that can be arranged."

We start walking back towards the thicket of woods, both exponentially more relaxed now that our mission has been accomplished.

"I'm sure they've got a pretty expansive selection of liquor out at the mess hall already," I guess, chuckling at the thought.

"Maybe," Jasper says, a playful glint to his voice, " but I might have a better idea."

I glance in his direction, an eyebrow quirked in question. Jasper turns to meet my stare, his mouth pulling into a smirk.

"What — don't you trust me?" He asks.

I don't know what Jasper's thinking — I have no idea what plans are formulating beneath all that curly hair — but in that moment, still on a high from salvaging thousands of images, I do. I trust Jasper implicitly.

Blush floods my face again. I turn away from Jasper, keeping my eyes firmly on the trees we're approaching. "Only with the rest of my night," I quip.

Jasper seems more than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Guys I've gotten so many nice comments / reviews over the last week! thanks to everyone who reached out, it's you guys who make me pump out 5,400 word chapters like it's the easiest shit I've ever done (which it's not. it's really not). Stay tuned for some country fun my dudes


	7. Lonely's (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOL / DRINKING
> 
> A/N: Keep your eyes peeled for part 2! I'm hoping (!) to have it up in the next few days! As always - for music given in a chapter or any other inspo, check out my Golden Hour tumblr - twiwrite ! Hope y'all enjoy ~

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
**

* * *

_There's somethin' 'bout a girl in a red sundress_  
_With an ice cold beer pressed against her lips_  
_In that farmer's field, will make a boy a mess_  
_There's somethin' 'bout a girl in a red sundress_

_(Somethin' 'Bout a Truck, Kip Moore)_

* * *

TUESDAY  
**JASPER**

Like magic, Alice walks out of the house lookin' a whole new person from two minutes ago. Her jeans and boots have been replaced by a dress — some red thing with little white flowers all over — and a pair of white tennis shoes. Her hair is all fixed back into place.

"Shoot," I say, as she descends the front steps to meet me. "If I had known you we're gonna get all dressed up I'd've gone and changed."

Alice laughs, eyes darting down to stare at the ground. "I just threw this on," she tells me, hands goin' to futz with the fabric. I hope she doesn't notice my eyes followin' her movements and down some, along the lines of her pale legs.

It's not fair that one woman look so stunning with so little effort, but there she is.

_We're just friends_, I tell myself. _Two friends — business associates, even — grabbin' a drink after a long day at work. So for the love of God, stop lookin' at her legs!_

"I couldn't justify leaving this property in muddy clothes," she continues on, finally stoppin' right in front of me. If it's even possible, Alice looks more beautiful up close. Her face is bright with excitement, her mouth in a smile that never seems to fade.

But it's how she's wearin' that dress — that wonderful, tight red dress — that's got me most distracted.

_Stop it._

"Well you sure look fine to me," I mutter as casually as I can muster.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Alice says, takin' a moment to let her eyes wander down my body.

For the first time in a long time, I feel self conscious of my appearance. I know just what I look like — sunburnt, dirty, wrinkled — and it's nothin' compared to the woman's ensemble. If Alice sees anythin' interesting, I don't know what it is.

"Sure," I say. "C'mon, then."

We spend the whole trip to Lonely's tiptoeing around each other. It's like a game of cat 'n mouse — we won't dare let the other spot us lookin'. I turn my head to catch her eye and Alice shifts to look out the window. She turns back to look at me, and once I see her move, I turn my eyes back to the road.

It's a game we play well, and in relative silence.

Some country station hums through the speakers. It's not the channel I usually listen to — Peter must've switched things around when he took the truck with Alice this morning — but Alice seems to like it. Every time I look over, she's tappin' her fingers along with the beat. It's real nice, bein' with Alice now, but part of me is jealous that Peter got to spend all that extra time with her this morning.

By the time we arrive at our destination, it's already half past eleven. The world around us has gone to bed, all except for this one vital place — Lonely's bar.

We'd agreed on one drink, so the late hour doesn't bother me much. _We won't stay long_, I tell myself. _An hour, tops. That way I'll have Alice home before too late._

_I know it's not a lot of time, but it's something. I'll take what I can get._

I park the truck near the back of the lot and tug the keys out of the ignition. I don't give Alice a second to question our destination before hoppin' out of the cab.

Alice meets me by the hood. "Where exactly are we?" She prompts, shifting her purse up onto her shoulder.

"Lonely's," I answer, like it's all the explanation she'll need.

Alice scoffs at the name, but I spot the smile that flashes across her cheeks.

We walk towards the bar — which looks more like a metal storage container than anything else — and by the light of the streetlights up front, I see Alice realize there's really nothin' else in sight. Nothin' but big, empty, red dirt fields, and a two-lane highway.

Before we go inside, Alice pipes up to ask me, "You're not lying to me, right? This isn't some elaborate play to get me into your serial killer den?"

I laugh at her question. "You trust me enough to open the door and find out? We've come this far."

She does.

Opening the door to Lonely's is like walkin' straight into another world. The settled darkness is disrupted by a punch of noise — men, women, and music-makers alike all pouring sound into the space around us. Neon light floods the cement walk, drawing us both in with its welcoming glow.

Only two feet into the bar, I notice Alice's mouth has gone slack.

"You look shocked," I tell her.

"It's a Tuesday!" Alice says, blue eyes wide as she takes in the massive crowd around us.

I lower my hand to her back and rest it there, leading her forward towards the bar. "Every day is a _Saturday_ here, darlin'."

Alice turns, those big eyes staring me down.

"It's all farmers and ranchers around these parts," I explain. "We don't — we don't usually take weekends, you know? When you work every day of your life, it doesn't matter much which nights you pick to go out 'n get drunk."

Someone hollers in front of us, drunkenly walkin' back away from a group of his friends. The man almost stumbles right into Alice, who jumps back into my grip to avoid a collision.

She's tight against my side now, and I hold her there until we manage to find two seats at the far end of the bar, away from the crazy.

Alice hoists herself up onto the barstool and sets her elbows on the bar. She settles, mouth turning up into a smile.

"This place is crazy," she comments, glancin' over her shoulder.

I copy her position, lookin' at the room around us. Tonight — just like every night I've ever been here — Lonely's is packed to the brim with rowdy. The bar is full, same as most of the tables, and the old, checkered dance floor is a sea of people. There's even a few out there I sort of recognize. The live band playin' on stage lends a chaotic sort of heartbeat into the space, keepin' everyone loose and movin' around the room.

The space is dark save for the flickering glow of neon signs hangin' round the perimeter, and when I look back at Alice I'm struck by how the blues and greens just _bounce_ off her black hair.

I can't stop smilin'. "Is it a good kind of crazy?" I ask.

"Oh, definitely," Alice instantly replies, flashing a devilishly toothy grin.

I'm drawn in with just one look, shiftin' my weight on the barstool so I can get just an inch closer. I might be crazy, but I think Alice is doin' the same.

In the relatively comfortable dark of the bar, our game of cat 'n mouse is no more. All pretence has been dropped in favour of blatant, unbridled staring.

There's a different kind of energy between us here, like the real world outside don't exist. In here, Alice and I are just people. There's no Texas or New York, no cowboy or designer, no James, no nothin' but _**us**_ — two people in a bar, intoxicated on the other before even orderin' a drink.

"But you like a little crazy," I flirt.

_What — I'm flirting with her now? Jesus, Jasper._

Alice's eyes flutter back at me in surprise.

Her entire demeanour shifts, one leg coming up to cross over the other. "Depends," Alice replies, voice lower than usual. "Right now I do."

I force my eyes up and away from her legs.

We're interrupted before things get any further, but God, if Alice isn't drivin' me up a wall —

"'Sup, Whit?"

I look up to see Finch — the Lonely's faithful bartend — hoverin' behind the bar. The man hasn't aged a day since I saw him last, save for his receding hairline. He takes us both in with a lazy smile, and makes quick work of settin' two coasters down. When he gets up close, I see his eyes wander to, and stay on, Alice.

"Hey Finch," I reply, tryin' to turn the bartender's attention away from her.

His smile grows as he stares at Alice. "Who's this?" He asks.

Without hesitation, Alice leans forward and introduces herself. "Alice Cullen," she says, offerin' a toothy smile. "I'm staying at Jasper's ranch for the week."

"_The whole week_?" Finch asks, turning his eyes from Alice back to me. His mouth turns up into a smirk, eyes narrowin' down at me. "_You dog_," he says.

"Shut the Hell up," I grumble, eliciting a laugh from Finch.

"Jus' the regular for you then, Whit?"

"Sure." I turn to Alice. "What's your poison?" I ask.

"What's yours?" She shoots back quick.

"Whiskey neat."

Alice seems to consider my answer for a flash, then turns to the bartender and says, "I'll have what he's having."

He chuckles. "A woman after my own heart," Finch says, before leavin' Alice and I alone.

She turns her body in my direction. "That's a big boy drink," she comments, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk.

"Think you can handle it?" I ask, hopin' she doesn't notice when I glance at her tiny body.

Her posture straightens, brows risin' towards her hairline. "Think I can handle it?" Alice scoffs. "I grew up in the Upper East Side, with the richest, most despondent kids in New York. I can drink my weight in Vodka and still find my way back to the E train in one piece," she tells me proudly.

I have no idea what the 'E train' is, but I figure it must be impressive.

"Full of surprises, as always, Alice," I drawl. A thrill rushes through me when I say her name.

We both pull our elbows off the bar when Finch shows up, a tumbler of whiskey in each hand.

"Now tell me — how did Whit here talk you into a date? You're finer than a frog's hair split three ways," he says.

All of Alice moves in a fidgety, nervous way. She looks at me, mouth agape, and I swoop in to help.

"Ms. Cullen is a _guest_," I quickly say. "She's in from New York with her co-workers. They're usin' the space over at the ranch."

Finch is obviously interested, hoverin' longer than I've ever seen him do. I know exactly what he's thinkin' —_ if the pretty woman isn't here with Jasper, she must be fair game_.

"No kiddin'," he says, leanin' further towards my companion. "You're mighty far from home, aren't you sweetheart?"

Alice let out a laugh I haven't heard before — one without a lick of humour to it. I look over to see that she's lookin' to me for help, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Alright," I say, ready to do just about anything to ease that expression off her face. "That's enough, Finch. We're here on business." It's a lie, but i'll say what I have to. When Finch doesn't immediately disappear, I sit a little straighter and throw him a stern glare.

He knocks his knuckles against the bar top and shoots Alice a wink. "I'll check on y'all later, then." Then we're left alone.

I relax — just a little — turnin' my body to face Alice better.

"Uh, _sorry 'bout that_," I bashfully say, embarrassed by Finch's forwardness. "I forgot about Finch. It's not often that man sees a new face 'round here. I'm sure he was just … _curious_."

"It's alright," she softly says, relaxin' against the bar again. She turns her glass 'round and 'round in her hand and we both watch the honey-coloured water spin within it. "You two know each other well?"

My eyes snap up to her face. "Not really," I say. "It's hard to forget people in a town this small. We all _sorta_ know each other."

Alice takes my answer and nods, not pausing a beat before shootin' another question my way. "Why does everyone call you 'Whit'?" She asks, lifting the glass of whiskey half-way to her lips. "Don't you like _Jasper_?"

I smile.

"Nah — I like it fine. Jasper's my Dad's name, though. And his dad's name — and his dad's dad's name. Kind of starts gettin' confusin' after awhile."

Her face breaks into a smile so strong it almost knocks me off my seat. "So you're Jasper Whitlock the fourth?" She asks, apparently delighted by this.

"The _fifth_, actually," I answer.

"Now _that's_ what I call a name," Alice jokes. "Jasper Whitlock the fifth," she says all hoity-toity, takin' my name for a test drive.

"_Whit_ is fine," I answer.

"I like _Jasper_," Alice says.

When Alice is sayin' my name, I like it too.

I forgo a real answer to Alice's compliment, instead offering a chuff of laughter and a shake of my head. I lift my whiskey to my lips and take a long sip of the amber liquid. It soothes my over-excited body, relaxin' every muscle in me.

Alice looks down into her glass for a long moment and then follows suit. She sips back almost half the glass and sets it down, her face not so much as twistin' at the taste.

"That must be a lot of pressure. Means you've got a lot to live up to."

"That's uh — that's an understatement," I explain. "The ranch goes back _almost_ as far as the name, y'know? It's on me to keep tradition alive, 'n now I've got the family business, too. Without my Dad around, it's all on me." My throat constricts as soon as I speak the words. I snap my mouth shut.

_That's the first time I've spoken of him in — God, I don't know how long._

I glance at Alice and the saddened, but still unperturbed expression on her face tells me she knows exactly what's runnin' through my head. _She knows — somehow, she knows._

"Alright," I huff out, shovin' my now empty glass away from me. "Did Peter tell you this mornin' or have you figured me out yourself, lil' Ms. Smarty Pants?"

Alice glances up at me, that same half-watt smile on her face. "A little bit of both," she meekly says. "I had a feeling — and I have been living in your house the past few days, you know. It's hard not to see all the family photos without wondering where those people went."

I nod my head, eyes glued to the bar top.

"Peter told me the rest this morning," Alice admits.

"Of course he did," I groan.

"Don't blame him," Alice tells me. "I'm the one who asked all the questions — I'm just too curious for my own good"

I want to be upset that my best friend spilled all my secrets to a relative stranger. Part of me knows I should be, but I'm not. I can't find it in my heart to be mad at Peter. All he did was save me from tellin' Alice myself.

When I lift my tired face into a smile, Alice relaxes beside me.

"I was sorry to hear about your dad," she says, juts loud enough for me to hear over the music. "And your mom —"

_Shit — Peter told her that, too? The gossipy bastard. _I nervously clear my throat, fidgeting uncomfortably under the weight of Alice's stare.

"Well — Peter didn't tell me what happened, but he told me you were young when you lost her," Alice says.

I give a quick nod of my head, my jaw clenched tight.

"We don't — we really don't have to talk about it —" Alice stops for a moment, nervously tuckin' hair behind her ear. "But _my mom_ — she uh, she died when I was seven. So — I mean — I get it. That kind of thing stays with you your whole life."

I've got my whole body turned in Alice's direction now. My mouth is slack, eyes focused so intently on her face I can feel them going dry. My heart aches for her, but I can't find the strength to vocalize my sympathy.

"—Or, I don't know," she backtracks, eyes dartin' away from my face and back to her drink. "Everyone's different."

"No," I say. "No, you're right. That's — it does. I think about her every day."

Alice smiles the same tired, nervous smile I've been wearin' and looks away, busyin' herself with the remainder of her whiskey.

Once she sets the glass back down on the table, I find it in me to say, "I'm sorry about your mom."

Alice peeks in my direction, givin' a quick shake of her head. "It's been a very long time," she says. "Life keeps moving forward, right?"

"Right," I agree.

And maybe it's the liquor, or the fact that I haven't been able to talk about this with much of anyone, but I find myself telling Alice everything.

"It's way different with my Dad," I explain. "He's been gone almost a year now, 'n I still don't think I've fully realized he's gone. I don't know. It's like — _God, I don't know_. I want to miss him and I do, but most of me still feels like he's here. Like, right here. _All the time_."

" — But I know that he's gone. It's impossible to forget, when I've got his whole reputation to take care of. So it's like — I've got to keep shockin' myself back into reality. Every day I wake myself up and go, '_oh, yeah, this is my life now_'. Then I get to work and I get through the day reminding myself over and over and over. It's the same when I get home. Every step of the day — every single day — I force myself to remember."

When I finally find the will to shut up, I notice that Alice's mouth has turned up into a weird sort of sad smile. She must think I'm crazy, droppin' all this on her.

"Sorry," I say, hangin' my head. "Listen to me puttin' all this on you—"

"It's not that," Alice interrupts. Her hand is on mine, her thin fingers squeezing my knuckles. "It's just — I can't even begin to explain to you how _well_ I know what you're talking about."

I blink, then blink again.

_How is she possible?_ I think. _Where did this perfect, impossible woman come from? How did I end up here, lucky enough to be at her side?_

Somethin' compels me to flip my hand over, to press my palm against Alice's palm. She's warm and soft and doesn't move when we touch, which only encourages me to curl my fingers around hers and squeeze tight.

_I'm a weak, weak man. I know I shouldn't even be lookin' at Alice, but here we are —_

"Gotta say, Alice, I hate that you do."

Alice shakes her head, that neon light in her hair bouncin' all around us. "Some things just take time to get used to," she tells me, matter-of-fact. "It won't last forever."

My lips twitch up into a smile. There it is again — that '_silver lining_' attitude of hers. Just like last night, her positivity has me amazed. I lean closer, my eyes narrowing as I approach. "Who_ are you_?" I ask, letting out a breathless chuckle.

"What do you mean?" Alice asks me, laughing nervously. Her hand pulls out of mine, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of black hair back behind her ear.

"It's like — you're — I don't know. I consider myself a pretty rock solid guy, but you — you make me nervous."

"I don't mean to."

I shake my head. "It's not a bad thing. Far from it," I explain, "there's just somethin' about you — just the way you are. I feel like I could tell you anythin'."

"That makes you nervous?" Alice asks tenuously.

"Yes," I say. "And _happy_."

Either someone's turned on a red light or Alice is blushin' like mad.

" — _And a million other things_," I continue.

"Scared?" she questions, voice more confident now. I glance up to see that she's smiling at me.

"Yeah, that too," I say, smiling back.

"It's not just you," she admits, that her pleased expression gone somber. "You make me nervous, too. And scared."

My smile falters. "_And happy_?"

Alice's serious expression breaks back into a content little smile. "Yes," she says, "between all that, yes."

"That'll do," I reply.

We keep talkin' after that — some about the ranch, but mostly about Alice's work, a whole universe of words I've never heard before. She tells me about her plans for the line, I tell her about my plans to fix what was once her cabin. We go back 'n forth, talkin' for what feels like ages, but I'm far from ready to stop. The conversation flows just as natural as liquor at a bar, so it only seems right to order a second round. This time, I let Alice pick the drink of choice.

With her featherlight voice, Alice orders us two shots of tequila.

"Sun of a gun — you sure do drink like you're from around here," I say.

Alice rolls her eyes at me.

When Finch returns with our next round, he does so silently. Alice picks up one of the small shot glasses and nudges the other in my direction.

"Come on," she says, a playful glint in her blue eyes. "Gotta do shots at the same time."

"Is that so?" I ask, already lifting the glass to my lips.

Alice laughs and knocks her glass against mine before throwing it back. I do the same, but almost choke laughing half way through. Alice's face has contorted, her mouth puckered. She shakes her head, setting the shot glass down with a hard thud. "Jesus Christ," she breathes.

I keep laughing. "You ain't in New York anymore," I remind her. "That's what _real tequila_ tastes like, darlin'."

"_Oh my God_," she groans. "No salt or like, lime or —?"

"What?" I ask, crackin' up more. "Pretty sure people only do that because _they have to_, with cheap tequila tastin' like ass 'n all. You don't do that with the real stuff."

"Warn a girl next time!"

Next time — I hear her words in my mind over and over again, louder than the band across the room. Next time. _Next time_. I've never wanted anythin' more than a '_next time_' with Alice.

"And miss watchin' your cute little face mess up like that? No way in Hell," I croak out.

Alice sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to contain the grin that threatens to break.

Somethin' like hope is growing in my system all the while.

_I know it's wrong_ — I know there are a million and one reasons why Alice and I are the last thing that should be — but I know what I want. Namely, I want that bottom lip of hers right where I can get it. I want that dress on my floor and that hair in my hand. I want Alice.

I turn my stare from Alice's lips upwards, and I'm wholly unsurprised to see that she's staring right back, eyes wide and attentive.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm startin' to think maybe she wants me, too.

A wave of confidence — or drunkenness — washes over me, and I find myself strugglin' against the urge to tell Alice everything I'm feeling. I'm close to doin' it, too, when I remind myself - Sunday. _Come Sunday, all of this gets taken away_. I could take the time I have with Alice - enjoy the next few days with someone I admire - or I could open my big mouth on a _hunch_ and a feeling, potentially ruinin' this what we've got. I clench my teeth hard, and remind myself of somethin' my Dad used to tell me: _better to keep your mouth shut and seem a fool than open it up and remove all doubt._

He's right — I know he's right — and it kills me.

Alice's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You know something?" She asks.

"What?"

Alice glances out at the crowd and then back to me, her face floodin' with that same pink from before.

"I don't think I'd get through this week without you."

"Well sure you would," I reply, steadfast.

Alice lets out a scoff and shakes her head. "Are you kidding me? I'd be squished under a tree or _coyote food_ by now, if it wasn't for you."

"You'd've figured it out," I say in return, shrugging my shoulders. "Texas ain't so difficult once you get used to it, 'n — "

"_Jasper_," she insists, smile blooming wider across her face, "just let me thank you."

I go quiet, pretendin' to zip my lips.

Alice's smile turns full-force grin.

"I've never met someone so_ generous_," she says. "When something happens, you're — you're always ready to jump in and help me handle it. Like — y'know — the roof caves in and you take it in stride. I do something stupid, like trying find my memory card in the middle of the night, and you make it your personal mission to help. It's — It's impossibly kind."

I want to say:_ It's not kindness, it's you. I'm doing this for you. _Instead, I give a curt nod of my head and reply: "anything you need. I'm here to help."

"Well, _thank you_," Alice says sweetly. "If there's anything_ I _can do —"

The bar erupts around us, folks laughin' and cheerin' as the band begins playing a new song. I don't recognize it, and I don't think Alice does either, but she turns around on her barstool to watch them. Her cherry coloured lips pull into a smile, her elbows comin' back to rest against the edge of the counter.

God, she looks so beautiful, leaned up against the bar like that. I've seen Alice all kinds of ways — nervous, excited, angry — but never like this, just relaxed, totally and completely at peace. It's got me starin' (_again_), eyes trailing down from her shiny black hair to her bare arms, to that little red dress.

I have to wonder if Alice knew what she was doing, puttin' that thing on. I wonder if she knows how well it fits her. I wonder if she knows how much I like red —_ Hell, after tonight, it might be my favourite colour. _All of her is amazing._ Every bit._

But in the end, it's somethin' about that dress has me sayin': "you know, actually — there might be one thing you could do for me."

Alice turns to look at me, her big blue eyes reflecting neon.

"C'mere," I say. I reach my hand out and take hers, standin' from my barstool as I do.

I take a step backwards, and Alice slides down off her barstool, a devilish smile on her face.

"Where are we going?" She asks, tiptoeing along in her white shoes.

"_Come dance with me_."


	8. Lonely's (Pt. 2)

**CHAPTER EIGHT  
**

* * *

_You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey_  
_You're as sweet as strawberry wine_  
_You're as warm as a glass of brandy,_  
_And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time._

_(Tennessee Whiskey, Chris Stapleton)_

* * *

_ **CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOL / DRINKING** _

WEDNESDAY  
**ALICE  
**

Jasper pulls me towards the checkered dance floor, a look in his eyes I'm hooked on.

"You're pretty smooth for a country boy," I manage, my voice surprisingly confident considering how terrified I am.

_This really isn't happening. It can't be happening._

Yes. If I'm being honest — yes, of course I want this. I want to experience the thrill of falling into Jasper headfirst. I want to weave myself into the electricity that flows between us. I want to plant myself in his life and see what grows.

I want a grand, life-changing kind of romance.

There's so much I want.

But more than that, I know what I _need_. Consistency. Stability. My Family. My home. None of which exist in Texas.

So I know — I'm sure — that there's nothing we can make of this. All this will ever is a drunken night shared between relative strangers. It's all I can allow. Because when I wake up Monday morning, I'll be alone. Just like I was the Monday before, and just like I'll be the Monday next. I'll be alone — in New York — and Jasper will be here, in Texas. That's reality.

Regardless, I convince myself that I'll be fine — that one dance with Jasper won't change anything between us. I can keep my head up above the water. I can get through this night — and this week — without leaving a piece of myself with this man.

I follow Jasper out to the edge of the crowd, drawn forward by the brightness of his smile and the tequila coursing through my veins.

It's a stupid decision.

The moment Jasper's hand land on my waist, I'm lost; my rock solid constitution more like pudding in his capable grip.

He chuckles at me, flashing pearly white teeth, and I just fall further and further. I laugh in return and then I'm spun around — _twice! _— before Jasper pulls me back against his chest. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the music vibrating through us both. It's a kind of connection I could get drunk on.

I move up onto the balls of my feet, trying to stretch myself taller so I can speak to Jasper over the roaring music. "Where'd you learn how to dance?" I ask him.

Jasper shakes his head. The hand he has on my upper back pulls me closer; close enough so I can hear him say, "you think I know what I'm doin'?"

I laugh again.

The song keeps going — upbeat and twangy — and Jasper and I keep on coming up with creative ways to get our hands back on each other. He catches my hand time and time again, to spin me around, or pull me closer, or to lead me around in some uncoordinated routine.

When the music changes, I half expect Jasper to let me go, or pull me back towards the table. He doesn't. Instead, he walks further into the crowd, pulling me along with him. We lose ourselves in a sea of plaid and jean, becoming one with the rushing current of bodies.

There's a lot less room for spinning here.

I ease my way into Jasper's grip, letting myself be fully enveloped by those strong arms of his. My hands land on his chest, only inches away from the rhythmic_ thud, thud, thud_ of his heart. I can feel him — that part that is so vitally Jasper — beating away, stronger and more sure than the bass shaking the floor under our feet.

We keep tangled in each other, watching with eyes wide open, and we clumsily move along to the music. I don't know what's playing. I don't care. The band could stop playing, if they wanted. The bar could shut down. The floor could disappear out from under our feet. It wouldn't matter — I'd still be here, locked in this man's embrace.

After another few songs, I'm hot and thirsty and overwhelmed by people, so I take Jasper's hand in my own and tug him back towards the bar. There's standing room only now, so I lean forward and reach out a hand to get Finch's attention. He comes over with a pleased smile on his face.

"What'll it be, sweetheart?"

I throw a quick glance over my shoulder at Jasper, who's smiling bigger than I've ever seen.

And maybe it's not the best idea — especially on an empty stomach — but something about tonight has me wanting to push a limit or two. So, instead of ordering water, I say:

"We'll take another round of tequila, please."

This shot burns less than the last. Or maybe I'm too focused on Jasper to notice. Either way, I down it quick and set the shot glass back on the counter, never blinking as I watch Jasper do the same.

When he drinks, Jasper tilts his head back, exposing the long, tanned line of his neck. My heart quickens in my chest, reverberating something I so very badly want to ignore: _Jasper could have all of me, if he wanted it. It's no longer a question of 'pieces' — he's got me whole._

Jasper slams the shot glass back on the counter and laughs, breaking my focus.

I turn my eyes up to meet his and grin, unable to help myself.

"You havin' fun?" Jasper asks me, speaking loudly against the music.

I nod my head, shifting closer so I can reply. "Is that even a question?" I ask. Then: "I never pictured you to be much of a dancer."

Jasper moves back just far enough to look at me. He narrows his eyes, trying to look _serious_, but the playful smirk he wears tells me he's far from it. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he teases, voice throaty and _all too good_.

When he laughs full force, so do I.

I tilt my head to one side, mirroring Jasper's expression. "Guess I could say the same."

Jasper's hazel eyes dart off my face, and he lets out a breath of nervous laughter before looking back in my direction. "You know — I always liked a little mystery."

I flush red at his words, overwhelmed by the dawning realization that Jasper has been feeling exactly what I'm feeling — he's just as involved, just as drawn in, and just as unsure of what he's getting himself into. It's not just me. We're both lost.

"Is that what you're looking for?" I ask, testing the waters. "_A little mystery_?"

Jasper leans his elbow against the bar and takes his time looking around the room before he finally lands back on me. "No," he answers, a pleased smile on his face. "I wasn't lookin' for anythin'. But you — you showed up anyways."

I look away.

"It's like you fell out of the sky or somethin'," Jasper says. "Came right out of nowhere."

"Funny," I say.

"How's that?"

"That was one of the _first things_ I thought when we met, that you '_came right out of nowhere_'. I was half convinced you must've just … wandered out of the woods. There's no one like you in my world."

Jasper leans closer to me, his honey-coloured eyes darting to my mouth. "Well then — I'm glad you found me."

"A stroke of good luck for us both," I manage, barely in control of my own voice.

He shifts closer yet again, and I freeze in place. For a split second, I'm convinced Jasper is going to lean in and kiss me. Panic rises hot in my chest, but before it can explode into something unmanageable, Jasper stops. He blinks, expression shifting from flirtatious to something else — _curious_.

"Tell me more about it," Jasper says.

I take a moment to calm myself, dragging in deep breath after deep breath. When I finally regain an ounce of self-control, I answer: "about what?"

"_Your world_," Jasper drawls.

That little sliver of calm abandons me, leaving a gaping hole where my stomach used to be. My world - my confusing, damaged, imperfect world - is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. My world is hundreds of miles away. My world doesn't include Texas, or this bar, or Jasper, and quite frankly, I don't want to pop that perfect little bubble of happiness I've found right here - _far outside of my world_.

"Well, _this_ is my world," I say, dodging what should be an easy question to answer. "My work is my world. My job is — well, it's just about all I think about."

It's a part truth. Enough to satiate his curiosity.

"So, what? You were born 'n the first thing you thought was, '_I'm gonna design clothes one day_'?" Jasper teases.

"Just about," I answer, my face exploding into an unexpected grin. The topic of my past is a touchy one, but fashion? _My passion?_ I could discuss that all day. "I've always loved creating," I say. "Making things. Sewing _Halloween costumes_. Drawing any little thing I could dream up — "

"Your drawings are beautiful," he blurts out.

Jasper's sincerity warms me from the inside out. I squirm on the spot, too busy remembering how Jasper saved a majority of those _beautiful drawings_ too actually respond to his compliment.

"I mean, the detail — _the care _— you put into every single one of those pictures? That's more than a God-given talent. That's passion. Love. Screams right off the page."

When I still fail to answer, Jasper keeps speaking.

"You make it look easy," he explains.

"I'm glad I've got you all fooled," I scoff.

"Don't do that."

"_Do what_?" I shoot back.

"Pretend like you're not as talented as you actually are."

"_You really think that_?"

Jasper nods his head, his thick eyebrows rising towards his hairline. "You _don't_?" He asks, almost accusatorially.

I try to force out a laugh, but it comes out choked — _startled_.

"I uh, I know I work hard for what I have. And I know that I haven't stopped working since I was young, and I won't stop until someone forcibly stops me. I don't know if that's talent," I relay, "or just a penchant for hard-work."

That has Jasper smiling.

"Can't it be both?" He asks.

I duck my head in a pathetic attempt to hide the blush that's bloomed across my cheeks. Jasper has a way of igniting both my modesty and my hubris, all in one fell swoop.

"I guess — it just doesn't always feel that way," I say, mindlessly shifting my weight to my other foot. "Most of the time, you know, it just feels like I'm walking a very, very thin line."

"Between?"

It's hard to find the right words between Jasper's fervent stare and the alcohol coursing through my system. I think hard — scrunching my face as I do — and eventually land on something I think Jasper will be able to understand.

"Between determination and doubt," I answer simply.

Jasper echoes my words.

"Yeah," I say. "Like — I'm — I'm so sure of what I want, but I can't ever shake the feeling that I'm going to fail."

He chews at his bottom lip, head nodding along as I speak. Jasper's eyes leave my face, seemingly searching the floor for some kind of answer. I watch him, ready to try explaining again, when Jasper's hazel eyes are suddenly on mine.

"I think there's a word for that line you're walkin'," he drawls.

I can only blink at him in response.

"Brave," he says. "It's called being brave."

"That's being a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"You're followin' your dream no matter the cost," Jasper tells me. "You believe in yourself enough to keep fightin', which is maybe the bravest thing you can do. Believin' in other people is easy. Believin' in yourself? That's —" Jasper lets out a hollow little laugh. "That's a lot harder."

My feelings for Jasper grow stronger with every word that leaves his crooked mouth. He's nothing like men I've known — he's strong, compassionate, understanding, attractive, hardworking ... he's _Jasper_. I'm desperate to see myself how he sees me — beautiful, talented, **_brave_**. I want to be that woman more than I want air to breathe.

"So I just keep walking the line?" I ask, stretching my body taller so I can get closer to him.

"Yeah," Jasper answers. "You just keep walkin' the line."

"Being brave," I clarify.

"_Being brave_," Jasper confirms, nodding his head dutifully.

When he speaks, I feel hopeful. When he speaks, I feel strong. I'm caught up in the simplistic wonder of his words, too overwhelmed by it all to come up with a response that conveys my gratitude and awe, all at once.

What I lack in eloquence I make up for in action. Without pulling my eyes off Jasper, I grasp his hands in mine. I squeeze them tight, turn my mouth up into a smile, and start walking us both towards the dance floor. Speaking would be pointless — there are no words in my vocabulary to express the complicated mess of emotions I'm experiencing. But maybe if he holds me close enough, Jasper will be able to feel what I'm feeling, pouring out of me with every breath I take.

I stop with Jasper near the middle of the crowd, and like we'd never left in the first place, Jasper brings me back against his chest.

Closer, this time.

The lights of the bar flash around us, a concoction of neon and dusty yellow, and the upbeat music played earlier has been replaced by the slow, unforgettable chords of a song I've always loved — _Harvest Moon_.

The pleased smile on Jasper's face tells me he likes it, too.

I reach my hand around his waist and spread my fingers out across his strong, cotton-clad back. It's all too easy to pull Jasper even closer, despite our considerable difference in size.

Jasper's left hand is on my back, so light I can barely feel it, and his right hand holds mine just the same. We stay like that, pressed tight against each other, and move in our own slow, docile orbit.

I want to put my head on his chest, close my eyes, and give myself to this man. Jasper makes it seem easy, like his warm embrace would make the perfect home for my heavy heart. With his arms strong around me, I find myself thinking, _maybe this is a safe place_. The thought wanders through my mind and alarm bells sound, all but startling me right out of Jasper's arms.

_This is not home, _I remind myself._ Don't get too comfortable here._

I look at Jasper and that other, more confident voice in my head sounds again: _you want him, _it insists.

My stupid, logical brain fights back:_ you're leaving on Sunday!_

I go back and forth.

_Hold on to him._

_He's going to disappear._

_You need him._

_It's only going to hurt!_

_Let it hurt._

That voice gets louder —

_Let it hurt!_

— Until it's deafening.

_Let it hurt!_

Until it's all I can think.

_Let it hurt._

Jasper tightens his grip on my waist, an attempt to close that distance between us, and I let him. He leans his head against mine, and I can feel him smiling against my temple.

Something solidifies in my chest, at the feeling of his lips on my skin. I can't ignore it anymore, how deeply and truly I want this man. This isn't just aimless flirting. This isn't just one night. This is —

_This is —_

All I've ever wanted was love. When I was six years old, waiting alone at school for a parent who'd never show up, I craved it. When I was ten, afraid of the strangers who called me their own, I prayed to accept it. When I was nineteen and thought I'd found it, I was blinded by it. When I was twenty and that so-called 'love' I found disappeared overnight, I cried for it. I begged for it.

Now, at twenty-three — standing in a bar toe-to-toe with a beautiful man — I hold the fragile beginnings of what could maybe, potentially be an earth-shattering kind of love. I've got it right here, in my hands.

Do I let love breathe? Do I nourish it? Covet it as my own? Do I finally let myself feel what it might be like — real, true, good love?

Or do I_ crush it_? Succumb to my fear and let it crumble away in my grip?

No.

_I don't have the strength for that_.

Suddenly it seems ridiculous that'd I'd ever try to avoid something as inevitable as _Jasper._ My heart has wanted Jasper since the moment it first knew him.

I want him so badly.

_And we're running out of time._

"Jasper — " I say, forcing my eyes open.

I can feel his breath on my face — warm, smelling sharply of the alcohol we've been drinking. His lips — his chapped, plump lips — are so close. One strong gust of air could just push us together.

Jasper shifts, pulling back just far enough to look me in the eye. He's smiling — absolutely, obliviously happy. "What is it?" Jasper breathes.

All of my words are lost to that damn smile.

My hand pulls out of his and reaches up to curl under the collar of his shirt. I grip the fabric hard and tug, pulling Jasper across those final few inches of space.

His lips are warm on mine.

Perfect.

For one split second —

_Perfect._

Jasper's hands land on either side of my face. His touch, like a brandishing iron against my skin, is all too gentle compared to the ferocity of our kiss. Jasper holds me — he _cradles _my face — and in an instant, he's got me convinced that I'm made of something much more fragile than skin and bone.

I fall back on my heels, but I keep head turned up to stare wide-eyed at Jasper's face. When our kiss breaks, Jasper's eyes flutter open, his mouth twitches up into a smile. I fall further and further.

His thumb brushes over my cheek, like a flame against my skin, until his fingers are buried in my hair. That gentleness still exists in his touch, but there's something else, too. _Desperation_. Jasper tugs me closer. I stumble over my own two feet and knock into him rather ungracefully, feeling all elbows and awkward angles against his hard chest. Jasper doesn't so much as flinch.

Our second kiss is rushed. Clumsy.

I'm determined to remember every moment of it.

I can feel him smiling against my mouth. I can feel his hands tangled in my hair. I can feel his nose, where it brushes up against my cheek. When Jasper is touching me, I wholeheartedly believe that this thing — this powerful, all-consuming thing we've started — is possible.

My hands slide up from his chest, one on each side of his long, tanned neck. I slide my fingertips upwards, exploring the muscular expanse of his skin and the hard, definite line of his jaw. The skin on his face is rough — stubbly after a long day of work — and the coarseness burns a fire in my belly. Jasper's curls are just out of reach, but if I stretch, stand on the tips of my toes, I can grab handfuls of gold.

His mouth slants against mine and I think, _this is right_.

I think: _this is what brave looks like_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AHHHH
> 
> GUYS
> 
> I'M SORRY! I expected writing this update to take me a day or two, not a whole week! I got hit with a cold & I'm just getting back to real life these past few days! And real life means jalice. Always.
> 
> SO I GUESS HERE WE GO! This is the point I was super freakin' excited to get to so hopefully I'll power through the next few chapters! Fingers crossed!
> 
> A MASSIVE SHOUTOUT TO LITTLEDARLINGAJ WHO HELPED ME WORK THROUGH A FEW KINKS I HAD WITH THIS CHAPTER! MY GRATITUDE IS ETERNAL.
> 
> As always, any inspiration for the chapter can be found on my tumblr - . This week had a lot of musical inspiration, so I'll have a little playlist up there as well!


	9. Running on Caffeine, Hope, and You

**CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

_Maybe time running out is a gift_  
I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift  
And give you every second I can find  
And hope it isn't me who's left behind

_(If We Were Vampires, Jason Isbell)_

* * *

WEDNESDAY  
**JASPER**

It's instantaneous. Our lips meet in the back of some dusty dive bar, and I'm sure - I'm absolutely positive - that this woman will be forever cemented in my mind. Alice is unforgettable. Alice is inevitable. Alice is the direction I'm headed. I know it in that split second that our mouths first touch, and I'm even more certain of it with every second that passes after we part. She's on my mind all through the night. I don't sleep. I don't settle. I toss and turn and stare at the measly wall separating Alice's bedroom from mine. She runs through my mind like a dripping faucet, just _there _every few seconds, an unrelenting - _Alice, Alice, Alice._

Even the squawking beep of my alarm clock seems to say her name.

As distracted as I am, I'm equally tired. It's a chore to drag my body out of bed and across the room, to undress myself, to even _consider _getting in the shower. I move on auto-pilot, propelled forward by one thought, and one thought alone: _I'll see her today_. If I can just get through a monotonous morning of feeding livestock and answering emails, _I'll see her_.

That promise gets me in the shower. Warm water splashes against my head and down my back, lulling me into a space where sleep - - the very same sleep that evaded me minutes and hours before - settles heavy around me. I'm tired. So tired. I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower and close my eyes, hoping to find rest for one uninterrupted moment.

_We tumble out the front doors — Alice first, and me right behind. She's particularly giggly, her breath coming out in quick, eager pants between the glorious sound of her laughter. Cool night air swirls around us both and Alice stops dead in her tracks to breathe it in, eyes fluttering shut._

_She steps further into the darkness and tilts her face up towards the sky. "I think it's raining," she announces, finally catching her breath. Alice's pale white skin is stark against the pitch-black night, like a sliver of the moon stuck here on earth. She lifts her hands from her sides, palms up, and stretches out her fingers like she's trying to catch a raindrop._

_I follow suit, moving out from under the cover of Lonely's awning. She's right — it's spitting rain, just barely, a fine mist settling over everything._

"_Come on," I insist, reaching out to hold onto one of Alice's hands. "The taxi won't be here for a few minutes. We can wait under here, where it's dry."_

_Alice curls her fingers around mine, but instead of following my lead, she tugs me back in her direction. "No," she says gently. "Stay here with me."_

_I come up to stand beside Alice, unable to say no to her sweet demand. Our hands keep clasped tightly between us._

"_I've always liked the rain," Alice mumbles, right before tilting her head to lean it against my arm._

I stand there long enough for the water to start running cool. When I open my eyes, morning light is pouring in through the fogged shower door. I'm behind schedule already - a theme I expect to continue throughout the day - and the sun growing bigger in the sky taunts me, reminding me that last night is over. Last night is gone. I have to focus on today, on what's right in front of me.

On days like today, when I feel almost too tired to move, I am entirely resentful of this Goddamn place. I hate the ranch. _Bitterly_. I hate that I can't take a sick day. I can't show up late. Living, breathing people are relying on me. Animals are relying on me. An entire ecosystem survives at my hand. I can't lie in bed nursing a hangover, or play a hookie on a whim. I've got to do what I do every single day, and so does everyone else here. Like the inner workings of any machine - one part goes missing and the whole thing collapses.

So I get out of the shower. I get dressed. I click my belt buckle into place, and I step into my boots, left haphazardly at the end of my bed. I head out for work, whether I like it or not.

Out in the hall, I can see that Rosalie's bedroom light is still off. Alice must still be asleep. Good. We only got home - Jesus Christ, _less than four hours ago._

_Alice clings to Rosalie's door. One of her hands is curled around the handle, the other grips the frame. She wobbles back and forth — a side effect, I assume, from the third shot of tequila we both had — and she smiles a goofy, wide smile._

_"Goodnight," Alice says, voice sugar-sweet._

_It's the third time we've gone through this routine._

"_Goodnight," I say again, grinning._

_She laughs. "Goodnight."_

_Fourth time._

_She looks up at me. I look back. Neither of us blink, or breathe, or move from our current position. The world spins around us, bringin' the sunrise closer and closer. Maybe we'll go through the whole day just like this — standing right here. I won't move so long as she doesn't._

_I can't stop smiling. "Goodnight."_

I tiptoe past the door, hoping the creaking of century old floorboards under my feet doesn't wake her. I take the stairs the same way, expertly avoiding spots I know will groan under my weight. I get downstairs silently, thanks to years of practice sneaking out past curfew.

The air outside sticks to my skin, awful humid and too heavy, like the clouds hanging dark way off in the distance. It rained overnight - just barely - but I've got a feeling we're in for a real storm at some point today. _I'll have to reinforce the tarps up over the wrecked cabin_, I think. _That'll be priority number one._

I find Peter walking towards the north barn. He's got a white, ceramic mug in his hands; one I know to come straight out of his own kitchen. When I walk closer, I smell his strong-brewed, black coffee. It has my mouth watering. "Charlotte make a cup for me, too?" I ask him.

Peter lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, bringin' the drink up to his lips for another sip. "No," he says, "jus' enough for me. _Husband perks_."

I nod my head in reply, ignoring the twinge of jealousy that shoots down my spine. There's something that sounds _so nice_ about honest-to-God domesticity first thing in the morning. Peter's found something wonderful with Charlotte - the same kind of special, devoted relationship I remember my parents having, back when I was young. My Mother and Father loved each other deeply, so much so that it became a defining characteristic of them both. They were best friends. Selflessly devoted to the other. Even as a child, I was determined to find that same kind of happy. I'm glad Peter's found that, of course, I love Charlotte like family. I just want it for myself. Desperately. And I believe I'll find it, really.

_Maybe I'm in the middle of it._

"Where the Hell you'd get off to last night?" Peter asks. "Your truck's gone. Seth needed it to get into town this morning."

… _I'd forgotten about my truck._

"Ah, shit," I say. "I left it down at Lonely's." I reach up to readjust the hat on my head, mentally chastising myself for my irresponsible behaviour last night. I should've stuck to one drink - maybe two - but around Alice I find myself inclined to indulge in all kinds of ways.

Peter shoots me a disapproving look. "You spendin' your nights down at Lonely's again?"

"No," I reply sharply, too tired for his inquisition. "I went with Alice." Before Peter can pipe up with any inappropriate comments, I keep talkin'. "Can you meet me 'round front in an hour? I shouldn't leave the truck there."

I look up to see Peter smiling wide at me. "_Well, of course I can_."

"Don't," I say back to him, waving off his playful enthusiasm.

"Don't _what_, Jasper?" He throws back teasingly. It's not often that Peter uses my actual name.

I just huff and turn on my heel.

"What should I tell Charlotte?" Peter shouts after me. "Was she right about you 'n Alice or what she right?"

I wave him off again, pretending to the best of my ability not to understand what he's asking. "I got shit to do."

_We return to the bar for a third time at Alice's request, in search of a glass of water. She's red in the face — delightfully so — and I have a feeling my kissing her might have something to do it. Hell — I'm pretty flushed, myself._

_The two of us chug water like fish on dry land._

_Finch watches us awful suspiciously. I look at him and think, 'yeah, alright, maybe it's somethin' like a date. What are you gonna do about it?' I mean — there's no use pretending we're here for business after _all that_ just went down on the dance floor._

_He walks over to us with a shit-eating grin, fumbling around with the bar cloth in his hands. "You two want anythin' else? Gonna be closin' up bar soon."_

_I look to Alice, whose face has softened from red to pink. She glances back at me. The second our eyes meet, she explodes into a fit of laughter._

"_Fuck it," she says. "One more round."_

As thoroughly as I enjoy my solitary early morning routine, I'm eager to slip back into the house, into the little bubble of space where Alice and I coexist. I cut corners, delegate tasks to workers who pass me by — anything to get me back to the house in time to see Alice before Peter comes knockin'.

I get back inside with more than enough time to spare. Enough time to brew myself a cup of coffee, and sit down with the newspaper. It's last week's paper, admittedly, but it's the best I've got.

The creak of Rosalie's door opening upstairs alerts me that Alice is awake and headed my way. I hear her pad down the hall, then the stairs, and I restrain myself from looking up to watch her approach. I focus on any and everything but her lithe figure descending the stairs. I watch the clock hanging across the room, moving steadily past seven, I look out the window, I scan over the newspaper, I watch the table —

"Hi," Alice says. Her voice is hoarse. Her mouth is locked in a tight-lipped smile.

That mouth.

_Her mouth on my mouth feels natural, right, like waves crashing against the shore._

_She tastes like liquor and salt._

_Alice breaks the kiss and I struggle to find the control to open my eyes. I do, somehow, and she's right there. Smiling. God, she's smiling like I've never seen before. My thumb brushes across her porcelain cheek and she's so delightfully soft that I find myself inclined to do the same again. Blush spreads wherever I touch. She laughs, eyes wide as they stare into mine._

_My hands wind up in Alice's hair, fingers curling into her choppy black locks. She tumbles towards me and I meet her half-way, our lips colliding along with everything else. I kiss her. And I kiss her. And I kiss her._

_Her warm hands land on my neck. One of my mine drops down to her waist, snaking around to her back. I grab a good fistful of that red dress and bring her closer by it, doing all I can to deepen the kiss, to get as much Alice as physically possible. She reaches further up, hands tangling into my hair. I lean closer, shifting our centre of balance. We both start to tumble. Alice laughs against my mouth. I start laughing, too. We break apart and she stares at me good and hard before jumping up to press one last, quick kiss to my lips. I can't remember how to breathe._

I finally look up, setting my paper down on the table. My fingers fidget once they're empty, my adrenaline levels all too high for someone sitting doing nothing. "Good morning," I reply.

She's wearing another dress today. Sky blue, this time. Her hair is still damp, hanging limp and inky black around her angular face. With each step closer, I notice more. Alice's eyes are decorated with dark purple bags, like bruises. Her skin is paler than usual. She smells of shampoo and soap and sunscreen. Alice crosses into the dining room and stops to stand across the table from me. Her big blue eyes are searching my face for _something_. Comfort, I think.

She looks like Alice, sounds like Alice too, but something is different.

I smile gently, trying to soften the nervousness rolling off of her in tsunami-force waves.

"Coffee?" I ask. _An olive branch._

She blinks, dragging her eyes off of my face to stare at the half-empty cup sittin' in front of me. "Yes," she firmly says. "God, _yes_. I'm exhausted._ I need caffeine_."

"You didn't sleep well?" I ask, standing from my chair.

Alice hovers in place when I move, wringing her little hands together. She laughs, breathy and quiet, and when I start moving, she shadows me towards the kitchen. "I slept like a rock," Alice tells me, "but not for very long."

I glance over my shoulder at Alice, throwing her a playful kind of smile. "Guess neither did I," I answer.

She doesn't smile back. Anxiety settles like a heavy rock in my stomach. _There's something wrong._

"What time did we get home last night?" Alice asks me timidly.

This woman — this quiet, timid thing — is nothing like the Alice I've come to know over the past few days.

"Three-ish, I think."

I flick the light on in the kitchen, illuminating floor-to-ceiling mahogany and granite. Like the rest of my house, this kitchen has remained unchanged since my childhood. It was the heart of the home once — filled with knick-knacks and childhood drawings, stocked for a family of four and the massive collection of friends they kept. Nowadays, my kitchen is lucky to see life once a day. The fridge is empty, save for some old film, and the only thing inside my pantry is instant coffee.

It's never bothered me until now.

I stand off to the side as Alice wanders into the space, feeling its coldness as starkly as I do.

Before walking over to the coffee maker — the one appliance I actually know how to use - I stop to pull out a seat at the kitchen island.

Alice shuffles over to my side and sits down, tucking the skirt of her dress under herself as she does. "Thank you," Alice says. It's painfully obvious that she's trying hard not to look at me.

_It's just nerves_, I tell myself. _We've landed ourselves in an awkward spot, and she's still processin' that. Give her time. Don't worry. Give her time._

I go off to start on her coffee, giving Alice as much space as the kitchen will allow.

"I don't have much in the house, but there's bacon 'n eggs in the mess kitchen if you want," I say, figuring breakfast is far easier to discuss than whatever strange, uncharted territory Alice and I wandered into last night.

"I'm not very hungry," she admits. "Coffee's fine."

The machine comes to life with an aching groan, slowly spilling black liquid into the pot below.

"How d'you take your coffee?"

"Milk and sugar."

_How do I tell her I don't even have milk in the house?_

I hesitate, Alice's mug in hand. Last night, conversation flew freely. Now we're struggling through stagnant, monosyllabic sentences.

I slowly turn around, and say: "Oh — _shit._ I, uh — I finished the milk this mornin'. Totally forgot."

Alice is sitting with her elbows on the island counter, her forehead resting in the palms of her hands. When I speak, her head snaps up, and she forces her body back into proper posture. She waves me off. "That's alright," Alice tiredly replies, "_just sugar_."

I walk over to the cabinet and pull out my Mom's old sugar bowl, glad to find that there's still some inside.

Once I've got Alice set up with caffeine, the woman comes to life. It's almost funny how quick the change is — like the first sip flicks a switch in her head. Her cheeks flush with colour, the blue of her eyes goes bright.

I pour myself a new cup instead of retreating into the dining room for my half finished drink and go to sit beside Alice at the counter.

She turns to face me better, her mouth pulled into a humble smile. "You didn't get much sleep either?" She asks.

_None._

"A bit," I say. "Just enough."

Alice nods her head and we sit in silence, side by side, like nothing is out of the ordinary. In reality, everything is different. I nurse my coffee and watch Alice do the same, wondering how exactly to broach the subject of our drunken rendezvous.

"I'm sorry about last night," Alice mutters, before I get the chance to say anything. If I hadn't fallen so in-tune with the sound of her voice, it would have been too quiet to register.

I look up from my cup of coffee and turn in Alice's direction, both eyebrows raised in question. She isn't looking at me anymore. Alice's posture is set in stone — her shoulders slouched, head bowed, eyes glued to the marble countertop. If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of her back, I wouldn't be so sure Alice was even breathing.

"For what?" I ask, incredulous.

"I mean, I practically jumped you." She still doesn't look my way.

To ease the tension squeezing my lungs, I let out a breath of laughter. Alice doesn't move, but flushes beet red.  
  
"Oh, come on now," I say to her. "You're serious? You're really tellin' me you're sorry for that?"

When Alice frowns in my general direction, my attitude shifts.

"Oh," I say. _"You are serious."_

I don't regret anything that happened at Lonely's last night, but part of me worries that I should. All morning, I'd been operating on the assumption that last night was the beginning of something meant-to-be, that Alice and I found a perfect vantage point together, up on cloud nine. Now I'm starting to think I'm up here alone.   
  
_She's uncomfortable_, I worry. _Look what you've done._

Alice blinks frantically, hurriedly shifting her position to look me dead in the eye. "We were drinking," she exclaims, by way of explanation.

"We were," I agree.

"We barely know each other."

"Then we should get to know each other better," I say.

"Yes," she hesitantly replies. "Ideally, yes. But —"

"But we don't have a lot of time," I guess.

She gives a quick bob of her head in reply. "That's an understatement."

"Look," I say, "it's okay. I'm not upset. I'm not sorry that you - that we kissed. I couldn't be sorry if I wanted to be. Honestly, Alice. Last night was — it was a lot of fun. I know it certainly … _complicates things_, but I've never been one to back out of a complicated situation."

Alice tentatively peeks in my direction. It's almost too quick to register, but I think I see her smile, too. "So you enjoyed yourself?"

"Of course I did," I assure. "But you 'n I could be watchin' paint dry and I'd say the same thing."

Alice's apprehensive smile widens, her shoulders relax away from her ears. She opens her mouth to say something, but it snaps shut at the sound of the back door creaking open.

Peter's booming voice echoes through the house. "Whit! Where ya at, man? We've got to get movin'."

I let out a huff and turn back to Alice, who's busy tucking her hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry," I say quickly, "I asked Pete to take me in'ta town to pick up the truck." I offer her my best apologetic smile and stand from my seat just as Peter walks through the door.

"Ah — g'morning, Miss Alice," Peter says, a Cheshire-cat grin spreading across his snarky face.

Alice forces a smile, cradling her coffee cup in two hands. "Hello, Peter," she says. "You seem chipper this morning."

Peter chuckles. "You seem pretty tired," he notes, lookin' from Alice to me. "The both of you," he teases. "Should I even ask what y'all got up to last night?"

I gape at Peter. "No," I say too quickly — too loudly — for anyone to be comfortable. I clear my throat, and shoot Peter a death glare. "No," I repeat, softly this time. "We should go. We've got to get the truck back here by eight."

I can't find it in me to turn and look at Alice. Peter can't seem to look away from her.

"Well alright then," he says, smile only growing. "I guess I'll be seein' you later, Miss Alice."

"You _sure will_, Peter," Alice says. She sounds just as annoyed as I feel.

_Maybe we're both just exhausted._

Peter turns to head back out the door, but the amplified awkward tension stays behind.

Before turning around, I force a deep breath in through my nose, and out through my mouth. I need Alice to see me calm — composed — like I have some idea what I'm doing; like I my head is in control of my heart, not the other way around.

When I turn around, I see that Alice has turned her entire body away from the counter. She's facing me — coffee completely abandoned on the island — with her hands folded in her lap.

"Can we talk later?" She quietly asks._ "Please?"_

"Of course," I answer. "I'll be workin' all day —"

"So will I." " — But later," I finish. "We'll talk. I promise."

Her pale pink lips pull into the slightest smile.

I smile back and give a curt nod of my head.

I'm on my way out the kitchen door when I hear Alice say: "thank you for the coffee."

So badly, I want to say: _thank you kissing me. Thank you for waking me up. Thank you for making me feel alive for the first time in a long time. Thank you for picking this place — out of all the places — to photograph your collection._ I don't say anything. I just go. Silently.

The second we're outside, my front door shut tight, Peter claps his hands onto my shoulders. "You freakin' dog!" He says, leaning in to make some sorta hollerin' noise in my ear.

"Jesus Christ," I say, flinching away from him. "It's seven thirty in the mornin', Pete. You've got to calm down." I shove Peter off and start walking towards his old black truck, which he's got pulled up around the front of the house.

"Didn't you sleep _at all_ last night?" Peter asks. I ignore his question, silently making my way down the driveway.

I get in the passenger's seat of the truck. Peter gets in the driver's seat and shoves me across the centre console. "Hey," he says, "you gonna tell me what happened or what?"

I look out the window, but I know that Peter won't halt his inquisition until I give him some kind of answer. "Nothin' happened," I weakly insist.

Peter starts up the truck, his face pulled into an exasperated expression all the while.

"Nothin' at all?"

I lean back in the seat and put my elbow up by the window. Like this, I can rest my tired head in my hand.

I consider leavin' it there; letting Peter think that absolutely nothing happened between Alice and I, save for a few drinks shared between friends. But I can't help myself. _Peter's my best friend. _I know I'm gonna tell him one way or another.

"I mean — she kissed me," I admit, right as Peter starts pulling down the driveway. When I speak, his foot drops heavy on the gas and we lurch forward.

Peter gawks at me. "_She_ kissed _you_?" He asks, slowly starting the truck up again.

I rub my tired eyes. "Yeah," I say. "At the bar. She just — she just up 'n kissed me, Pete."

Peter smiles, eyes darting in my direction once, twice, _three times_.

"What?" I ask.

"I owe Charles twenty bucks," he answers.

"Yeah, well, you're both way more sure about this than she is."

Peter watches me intently, his fervent glances more obnoxious than any outright questions he could ask. I have nothing else to say. He can stare as long as he pleases.

All ten miles into town, I'm thinking on Alice. Her ghost, dressed up in red and giggling with joy, follows me back to my truck, and all through town as I run the errands Seth was planning to take care of this morning. I can't shake the feeling that she's right here with me, following me through this monotonous day.

It's already after lunch by the time I get back to the ranch.

I pass Quil in the driveway, washing up Peter's truck, and he welcomes me with a nod of his head. I park a few feet away from him and hop out, waving him over as soon as I do. Quil drops the hose he's holding, letting it drain water out onto the red-dirt ground. He saunters over to me.

"You piss off Peter?" I ask, nodding towards the truck he's been cleaning.

"Lost a bet," Quil quips. I huff a laugh.

"Well, enough of that. Gimme a hand, will you?"

Quil is quick to start helping me unload feed from the back of the truck. We make quick work of getting the dozen or so fifty-pound bags I've got loaded up out of the truck bed, carrying them one by one towards the shed closest to my house.

It's hotter than Hell outside - the sun still all too present among the grey clouds that circle above - so we both work through the pile slowly, pacing ourselves.

By the time I'm hauling the last bag, my hands are burned from the burlap, my shoulders ache, my back is slick with sweat. My sleepless night is catching up with me fast, leaving me to half-ass jobs I usually finish with ease. I abandon my last bag outside the shed, knowing someone'll have to take it down to the coop tonight anyways, and wait for Quil to finish up inside.

I lean my tired body up against the old wooden structure, sucking in shallow breaths of humid air.

Off in the distance, I spot that photographer of Alice's. _They must be comin' back for the day_, I think at first, but the longer I watch, I'm less sure. None of the girls are with James - especially not Alice. _I think he's wanderin' around by himself_.

I'm staring intently enough to witness the split second in which James notices me. He halts his step, stares, and then turns to stalk in my direction with his head down and his eyes narrowed. A very familiar feeling churns in my gut.

_I've seen enough chargin' bulls to know when trouble's coming._

Quil wanders out of the shed, wiping his hands off his jeans. He turns his head in the direction I'm lookin' and spots the man charging towards us both. He eyes me nervously. "Boss?"

I shake my head. "Go see if Peter needs you," I sternly say. "We're fine here."

Quil listens - thank God - and leaves just in time for James to reach me.

The first words out of his mouth hit harder than I expect. "You snake," he bellows, getting right up in my face. "You fucking snake!" "_James_," I calmly say.

"You think she wouldn't tell me what happened?"

It doesn't take long for me to fill in the blanks. If Alice told James _'what happened'_, then he knows all about the bar, and the dancing, and the kiss. James thinks I've stolen a night that he's waited_ two years_ to have; something he confided in me only hours before I did. I shake my head, ready to explain that I fell _ass backwards_ into whatever happened last night. "James -"

"She thinks you're a decent person," he says, voice overflowing with anger.

"I'm sorry," I quickly reply. "I know you had plans. I promise you, I had _none_. Things just -"

"You got her drunk," he snarls.

I feel all the colour leavin' my face. "I can assure you, Alice knows how to hold her own," I insist. "No one _got her drunk_. She's her own woman."

James' hands come up quick, and he shoves me hard. I take a full step back, raising my hands in a show of surrender. He steps back too, all jumpy and unsettled. I plant myself steady on the ground, ready for his nervous energy to erupt in my direction at any given moment.

"Whoa, look - I know you're angry. I know you feel you gotta do somethin' about it. But I'm not gonna fight you, man."

"You don't know what you're doing," James says. "You gotta fucking leave her_ alone_."

"I will," I say, eyes narrowing. "If _Alice_ asks me to, I will."

Over James' shoulder, I see the back door to my house slide open. Alice rushes outside, a flurry of blue fabric, and she lands herself right between us. She faces James, staring down the angry bull like the smallest, bravest matador I've ever laid eyes on.

"What is going on here?" She demands. When James fails to answer, Alice throws a glance in my direction. I catch her eye, but only briefly. Alice's focus is back on James all too quick. "I can hear you shouting from upstairs," she tells him.

"Why don't you ask your precious fucking cowboy_ what happened_," James bitterly answers.

Alice's posture falters. "_James_," she says. I can hear the realization ringing clear as church bells in her voice. I'm surprised it took her this long to catch on - the man wears his emotions clear as day on his face. He's so _obviously _in love with her, it's almost sickening to watch.

She takes a step forward, one hand reaching up towards James' shoulder.

"No," he snaps. "Two fucking years - I waited two fucking years for you, Alice. You knew how I felt. I told you - back when we first met, I told you. And you told me you weren't ready."

"I wasn't," she answers, confidence dwindling. "But I thought -"

"You thought what?"

"I thought you moved on," Alice says. "We're friends. We're just -"

"Oh, _fuck that_."

James' body moves in Alice's direction and my neanderthal brain kicks in. All in one swift movement, I take hold of Alice's wrist and tug her back, shifting to put myself between her and the other man. "_Hey,_" I say; a low, urgent warning.

I hear Alice's breath hitch in her throat.

James glares up at me, looking more like a petulant child than a predator up close. I expect him to shout some more, maybe even hit me, but James just snarls, his mouth twisting up into something ugly.

Then he spits at my shoes, and pushes past us.

"_James!"_ Alice's shrill voice splits through the air like a bullet.

I turn to watch Alice stomp after him, a formidable ball of _pissed off_, but she stops abruptly after a few steps.

_We're being watched_. Her entire team is hovering only ten feet away, watching slack-jawed as James hurries back towards his cabin. One of them, a blonde, turns in our direction and sees that they've been noticed. The group disperses quickly after that.

"Alice," I carefully say. She doesn't budge.

"Alice, I'm sorry. I don't know what - "

She finally looks at me. Her watery blue eyes and flushed cheeks hold a vice-grip on my heart. "It's not your fault," Alice mutters, looking back in the direction James' direction. I don't quite believe her. "It's - I've just - I should - I need to talk to him - _I need to go_."

"Alice."

_"Please, Jasper," _she begs.

I snap my mouth shut - despite every fibre of my being aching against it - and let Alice hurry off after James.

_Alice clings to Rosalie's door. One of her hands is curled around the handle, the other grips the frame. She wobbles back and forth — a side effect, I assume, from the third shot of tequila we both had — and she smiles a goofy, wide smile._

_"Goodnight," Alice says, voice sugar-sweet._

_It's the third time we've gone through this routine._

"_Goodnight," I say again, grinning._

_She laughs. "Goodnight."_

_Fourth time._

_She looks up at me. I look back. Neither of us blink, or breathe, or move from our current position. The world spins around us, bringing the sunrise closer and closer. Maybe we'll go through the whole day just like this — standing right here. I won't move so long as she doesn't. _  
  
_ I can't stop smiling. "Goodnight."_

The moment plays through my mind for what feels like the hundredth time today. This time, I'm certain I should've kissed her. Right then, standing outside Rosalie's room, I should've kissed her. It would've been a good last kiss, if last night is really all we'll ever get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Again, a super special thank you to LITTLEDARLINGAJ who has been a massive, massive help in getting these past two chapters out into the universe!
> 
> I'm hoping to start steadily putting out chapters on TUESDAY NIGHTS, so come back 'round 9PM EST next Tuesday for your next update!
> 
> As always, reviews & kudos are always appreciated! I love you all for sticking with this! Keep reading on !


	10. Constellations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anxiety, ptsd, panic attacks

**CHAPTER TEN**

* * *

_The winter sun could melt away  
_ _I warm up with each word you say  
_ _The stars they point my mind to you  
_ _They show me what's always been true_

_You were right on time_

_(Right on Time, Jems)_

* * *

_WEDNESDAY_  
**ALICE**

"Alice?"

I glance up to spot Angela hovering nervously by the cabin door, and quickly look back down to the image I was editing on my laptop. Tanya's smiling face stares back at me.

"You haven't seen James, have you?" I ask, just as Angela toes into the room.

"No," she answers sadly. "I thought maybe I'd find you both here."

I drop my hands off the laptop keyboard, letting out an exaggerated sigh. It's been four hours and James has yet to return - I'm knee-deep in nerves, convinced that James has either been eaten by a coyote or lost to the wilderness. _How didn't I see this coming?_ _I've had time to worry about everything else - how didn't I think to worry about James, too?_

"Is everything okay?" Angela tentatively asks.

"Perfect," I answer bitterly. Too bitter to be directed at someone who's done absolutely nothing wrong.

Angela walks further into the cabin. I know what she sees: James' bag; open and half-emptied, his clothes scattered all over the floor, his unmade bed, and our equipment piled high in one corner. I've been taking inventory of it all on repeat for the past few hours.

"Everyone's talking," Angela tells me. She flattens out the quilt on James' bed and takes a seat. I can feel her eyes on my back. I don't turn away from my laptop, hopeful that Angela can't see the red polluting my face from where she is. "Carmen thought it looked like a lover's quarrel."

I shift nervously in my seat.

" - but I don't think Jasper is really James' type." Angela's joke breaks the tension, just barely. I let out a nervous tick of laughter and turn to face her. She smiles at me, but I see the pity lingering in her eyes more than anything.

"I guess you never know," I reply.

She chuckles a little. "Guess not." Angela says, before going quiet. She's waiting, I presume, for me to start filling in details. I don't. Instead, I make a good show of studying the rug on the floor.

"We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to - "

I look up, into Angela's warm brown eyes. As long as I've known her, she's been a quiet, gentle person. She keeps to herself, much like Bella - _probably why they get along so well_. Angela doesn't push, which I'm endlessly grateful for. Right now, I don't want to talk. I don't want to think about Jasper or James at all. I just want to work, and seclude myself until this whole situation blows over.

" - But you shouldn't just keep yourself locked away in here all night," Angela says, like she can read my damn thoughts. "You already missed dinner."

I purse my lips, eyes darting back to the ground. _Oh, look. There's an ant over there._ She stays quiet, patiently waiting for me to stop acting like a criminal mid-interrogation. _Get over yourself, Alice. Talk to her._

"It was just _so _embarrassing," I finally mumble out. "I don't think I can face everyone."

"You're not the one who should be embarrassed," Angela reminds me. "James was the one being … _dramatic_."

"That's very diplomatic of you." I laugh a humourless laugh, doing all I can not to roll my eyes.

"Well -"

"Dramatic went out the window when he spat on Jasper's boots, Angela. He spat _right on his boots_. That's got to be like, a criminal offense around here."

"_Well_," Angela tries again, barely acknowledging my outburst, "no matter what happened, James is nowhere to be found. Jasper, on the other hand …" she trails off, eyes glancing towards the open cabin door.

"Where is he?" My question comes out all too quick, eliciting a smile from Angela.

"_Hovering_," Angela says knowingly. "He's, uh, he's been walking circles between here and the mess hall. I think he's waiting for you."

My entire body floods with warmth. If I didn't have feelings for Jasper before - something I'd been trying to convince myself - _I certainly do now_. He is patient. Protective. Non-reactive. In the face of angry, vindictive, _cynical James_, Jasper was still. He was level-headed. It's admirable, really. I'm lucky to have him on my side.

"I don't know what to say to him," I mumble.

"Maybe Jasper doesn't know what to say either," Angela suggests. "But I know that if you sit here all night worrying about it, you're only going to feel even worse. Come outside. Join us for a little while. Take your mind off things."

I glance back towards my open laptop, Tanya's image still open and half-edited. I have another few hundred photos just like it, all of which need combed through. "Maybe," I say. "I've got a lot of work to do." It's a half-assed excuse, but Angela accepts it nonetheless.

She nods, stands from James' bed. "Alright, well, Kate's been bugging Peter about having a campfire for days now and the poor guy finally cracked. They're setting everything up now. You should come. At the very least, you'll be shrouded in darkness. Might make it a little easier to face the crowd," Angela quips.

"Isn't it supposed to rain?" I reply. _One last excuse._

"It was," Angela corrects. "Apparently the storm is uh, hovering over the gulf, or whatever."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. I guess I'll come."

I agree to go to the campfire for Angela's sake, and Angela's sake alone.

She leaves me alone - _finally_ \- and I take the opportunity to do something I've been meaning to do since last night. I take out my phone, pulling open the oldest text chain I have going. Quickly, I type out:  
  
_So... I may or may not have kissed a cowboy last night._  
_ I may or may not be freaking out. SOS!_

I send the message off to Bella and quickly lock my screen, trying not to dwell on the feeling of vulnerability that arrived the second my message sent. Kissing the cowboy is one thing, admitting it to anyone, let alone _myself_, is another.

But I did. I kissed him.

I kissed him, and I liked it.

I kissed him, and _I want to kiss him again._

Which is all terribly, tragically wrong. Because the one thing I know, the one thing I'm absolutely certain about, is that I cannot - will not - kiss him again. Not if I want to keep my heart in one piece.

I wait for a reply from Bella, but when one doesn't show I succumb to the knowledge that she's probably with my brother. If I hold my breath waiting for her advice, I might just pass out. I could text Esme in the meantime, but _talking boys_ with my mother feels all too infantile. I can't make myself do it.

I'm left to sit and stoop, untangling threads of logic and emotion with unpracticed hands.

By the time I actually pull myself out of the cabin, the entire world around me has turned dark purple. It's still uncomfortably humid, but a strong breeze of cool wind pulls the smell of smoke towards me. I follow it until I hear the strumming of acoustic guitar and see, off in the distance, the oranges and yellows of a glowing fire. Peter is playing guitar again. He's singing to a crowd of twelve or so, all gathered around on logs and stumps and stones, set out in a semicircle. Jasper sits on Peter's left, Charlotte on his right. Everyone else is turned away from me - dark silhouettes against the roaring fire.

When I get closer, Jasper's eyes land on me. He watches me through the flames, his stoic face almost intimidating when lit with such stark shadows and light. I find Angela, thanks to her distinctively dark head of hair, and squeeze into an empty spot beside her. I put on a smile; not only for her sake, but for Jasper, who continues to watch me like a hawk.

Angela turns to look at me, nudges my shoulder with her own. "Hey," she whispers, "glad you came."

I force my smile a little wider. "Me too," I say, looking back towards Peter.

His guitar playing is calming. So is the warmth of the fire, surprisingly, even in the early-summer heat. I'm nowhere near relaxed, but this environment could be, on any other day, pretty relaxing. I could potentially like this whole campfire thing.

Angela nudges me again and I look in her direction to spot a plump, juicy marshmallow in her hand. "Want one?" I smile - for real this time - and take the sweet from Angela. I thank her before popping the marshmallow in my mouth. It's gooey and sugar-sweet, a tiny jolt of pure goodness at the end of a complicated day.

Across the fire, I catch Jasper smiling. The particular curve of his lip, right in this moment, shoots straight through my heart. It's not a happy smile - nothing like the goofy, toothy grin he wore last night. This smile is softer. Sadder. Weighed down by uncertainty, and a whole complicated day of his own. I can't avoid the thoughts that bombard me at the sight of him.

_Look at his face. That's your fault. All that sad? That was you._

_And you're only going to hurt him more, if you try to make this ridiculous thing work. You'll both end up hurt._

… _But look at his face. His eyes are so still - I've never seen someone with such focus. He's smiling at you. Or trying to, at least. Maybe it's not sad. Maybe it's worried._

_He's beautiful. So beautiful._

_You can't do this, Alice. You can't have him._

I want so terribly to be a pillar of strength. Tonight, I feel closer to a pillar of sand. One good gust of wind, one change in tide, and I'll just melt away.

"Alright," Peter says. "I need a drink. Someone else have a turn." He holds out the guitar for a second, and when no one jumps at the opportunity to grab it, Peter turns to hold it in Jasper's direction. "Whit?" He asks.

Jasper looks up from the fire only long enough to laugh at his friend.

"Oh, c'mon, man! Jus' one song."

Jasper shoots Peter a look, like '_what the fuck are you doing'_, and gives an over-exaggerated shake of his head. "Nah," he says, "I'm good. You do another one."

Charlotte leans out so she can see past her husband, and she smiles brightly at Jasper. "One song, Jas," she reiterates. "Play your favourite!"

Jasper turns his head up, finds me across the campfire. I quirk an eyebrow in response,

"Come _ooon_," Peter draws out. He wiggles the guitar he's holding out to Jasper, and the blond finally takes it with a reluctant huff.

"Fine," Jasper says. "One. _Just one_." He clears his throat and sits up straighter - an action I find myself mirroring. Jasper settles the guitar in his hands and takes a moment to orient his long, hard-worked fingers on its strings.

My heart is racing. I'm sweating, like, a lot. All those feelings I've been burying down, down, and further down since last night come bubbling up one by one: lust comes first; overwhelmingly present, followed close by admiration, fear, uncertainty - I feel like I might just explode, and the man hasn't even started playing yet. If he can sing, too? I might just pass out.

Within the first few chords, I place the song. My beating heart lodges itself in my throat, hard and uncomfortable. I stop breathing. I stop thinking.

"_May God bless and keep you always_," Jasper sings.

I grip the log beneath me with both hands.

"_May your wishes all come true_."

I know what words are next without hearing Jasper sing them.

…

"_Settle down, sweetheart," she urges. "Close your eyes. Tell me what's next."_

"_May you always do for others," I add, my half-sung words muddled up with hers. "And let others do for you."  
  
_"_Close your eyes," she whispers again. I do. But I keep a tight hold on her hand, even though my two little ones are barely big enough to cover her fingers. I don't feel like it's enough. I can't hold on. She's not going to stay. I can't keep her here. I open my eyes.  
  
_"_May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung," she sings, eyes narrowing at me playfully when she sees I've opened mine. She just shakes her head, singing on. "May you stay forever young."_

_Those words I remember. I sing them along with her._

"_Close your eyes, Mary Alice," she insists.  
  
_"_Do another part," I whisper back. "Do the whole thing." That'll keep her here._

"_Only if you sing along with me … and close your eyes. You need to sleep."_

"_But Mama, you're gonna leave me," I whine. I know it's true.  
  
_"_Now, now. Enough of that. I'm not moving an inch."_

…

A white blob appears in my peripheral vision. I jolt, eyes turning quickly to the object in surprise. It's another marshmallow, held out by Angela.

"Al, are you good?" She whispers, lowering the thing. "You look freaked." I barely hear her over the ringing in my ears.

"Yeah," I manage. "Yeah. I uh - I'm going to - I'm not feeling very well. I'm gonna - _go inside_." I lie. I don't know where I'm going. Anywhere that's not here. Anywhere I'm not forced to listen to this song.

I look away from Angela and force myself up onto my feet. I turn, and step directly over our log bench in my desperate attempt to escape quickly. If everyone is staring, I don't see it. My eyes are trained on the horizon line. The empty fucking horizon line.

I need to get out of here.

_Where the hell am I going to go? There's nowhere to go._

I walk and walk and walk, following one of the endless dirt trails that wind through the property. When I reach a length of log fence, I follow that, using the old, cracking wood to keep myself upright. There are no people, or animals, or buildings in sight. Part of me is relieved. The rest of me is terrified, wound up in the grasp of a massive panic attack.

Even way out here, I can't breathe. _It's just the humidity_, I try to tell myself. _The air feels different here. You're okay. You can breathe. You're going to be okay. You just need some space. Let it pass through you._

And I know it - deep down I know I'm going to be _okay_ somehow, but my body hasn't quite caught on. That thought keep moving forward, albeit shakily, until I reach a turn in the fence I'm following. It seems just a good a place as any to rest my weary body, so I stop. I turn my back and lean it against the post, sliding my way down to the ground.

_The grass is cool beneath me, and soft. The wood behind me is hard. I can hear cicadas. I can hear the wind. I see trees, and more trees, and a dirt path way off in the distance. When I look up, I see the sky. Dark purple. Maybe blue._ I keep listing things around me, distracting my mind to the best of my ability while calming my body with deep, even breaths.

I tell myself exactly what my parents would. _This will pass. You are safe._

When calm seems achievable, I close my eyes. I see her face, round and happy and blue-eyed. She's smiling at me.

_Bad idea._

I force my eyes open, palms going flat out against the grass. I go back to my facts: _The grass is cool beneath me, and soft. The wood behind me is hard. I can hear cicadas. I can hear the wind. I see trees, and more trees, and a dirt path way off in the distance. When I look up, I see the sky. Dark purple. Maybe blue._ _There is something cold on my cheek._

I reach up, shaky fingers stretching out to find whatever lingers there. It's only when I feel wetness on my face that I realize I've been crying. I lift my other hand, furiously wiping at both cheeks, but the wetness doesn't stop. It's pointless.

I drop my hands back down to the ground and let myself be, tears and all.

I sit, and stare, and pray for this moment to pass. I try to hold on to something - anything - any kind of thought that doesn't involve her, or that stupid, stupid song. But I can't get it off my mind. With all the possible songs he could've chosen, why did it have to be Forever Young? _Someone must have told him_, I think, paranoia skyrocketing. _He knows. He knows what happened._  
  
Frustration bubbles through me, forcing more tears down my face. I want to scream, and yell, and blame the mess of ugly emotions I'm feeling on something. Someone.

"There you are." His voice pierces through me, dragging me out of my mind.

I only peek up long enough to confirm it's Jasper approaching. My body reacts before my brain does, hands flying up to furiously rub tears off my face. Jasper gets close faster than I expect, and by the time he's only a few feet away, my eyes are still wet, my breath still shaking my chest. I know that if I look at him directly, I'll just start crying again. So I don't look. I keep my head down, my posture stiff.

"Hey," Jasper says, voice low and soft. "What's goin' on? Are you okay? Did I -"

"Don't. Just - don't say _anything._"

Jasper stops dead in his tracks. "_Okay_," he cautiously agrees. There's a long pregnant pause before I see his boots shuffling closer and closer, footsteps muffled by the thick bed of grass I'm sitting on. He stops just to my right and turns, eventually lowering down to sit at my side. He stretches out one leg and keeps the other one bent, a hand resting on his knee. Jasper doesn't speak.

I sniffle, rubbing at my nose with the back of my hand. "Who told you about that song?" I demand, voice shaking.

Jasper laughs beside me. "Uh, _Bob Dylan?"_

"You know what I mean," I snap back. "Who told you? One of the girls? It obviously wasn't James."

"Wait - _Alice_," Jasper hurriedly says, sensing that this is far from a joking matter, "no one told me anythin'. I have no idea what you're talkin' about."

"That _song_," I force out, like the words had been burning my mouth. "That's - It's just - it's important to me. It's -" I don't mean to tell him. I don't necessarily even want to. But I do. I'm so tired, and sad, and confused, and humiliated - I just need someone to understand. "My mom," I say, and the second I do, I see realization flash across Jasper's face, "she used to - she would sing it to me. She taught me the words. It's - I just -" The tears threaten to start again. I turn my face away. "It's my favourite song," I meekly finish.

Jasper takes his time in responding. I listen to him breathing, the rhythmic ins and outs just enough to keep me from falling back into a puddle of tears. I hear him sigh, eventually, and then a strong, warm hand lands on my shoulder.

"Alice … how would I have known that? How would they have known that?" Jasper gently questions, trying to ease my anxieties.

"I don't know," I snap back, still sniffling. "I thought maybe Bella told Angela and - and maybe she told you, and -" _God I feel so stupid._

Jasper shakes his head slowly, shifting to move his body closer. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was about to hug me. "I'm sorry," he whispers, only loud enough for me. "I had no idea. I didn't mean to upset you." He rubs his thumb along the skin of my shoulder, raising goosebumps over my skin.

When I fail to react in any way, Jasper drops his hand. "You know, my Dad used to play Forever Young all the time on the radio when I was a kid. He would turn it all the way up and dance my Mum 'r Rose around the kitchen, doin' his best Bob Dylan -"

"I don't want to talk about it," I pronounce. "I can't. Not right now."

Jasper nods, his mouth closed tightly.

We sit in silence for a long time. The sky turns from purple to black. Stars multiply from two to four to eight hundred in what feels like seconds, only serving to remind me that I'm thousands of miles away from home - from Esme and Carlise, who kept with singing me to sleep with the same tune every night I lived in their house, from Edward, who taught me how to play it on the piano, from Bella, who knows every dark, terrible moment of my past. I want to be home so badly it suffocates every other emotion I'm capable of feeling.

I don't know how long we stay like that, just watching the dark, but it's long enough for my eyes to stop stinging with tears. It's long enough for my breathing to ease into the same rhythm as Jasper's. It's long enough that when Jasper finally speaks, it startles me.

"That's Jupiter up there - the really bright one," Jasper says, pointing a finger up towards the sky. I draw a line from where he's pointing up to the sky, sourcing out the brightest spot among a million spots.

"Really?" I ask, voice more sturdy than I expect it to be.

He nods his head. "Jupiter is two and a half times bigger than all the other planets in our Solar System combined. You can see it almost all the time out here," he tells me, awakening a sense of smallness in me. Jasper moves his finger, pointing towards another cluster of stars. "That one there, that's Saturn - sits right at the bottom of the Libra constellation, see? Kinda like a triangle with two legs?"

"I see the triangle," I mutter back.

He lowers his finger a little and I squint, trying to see what Jasper does. "It's a little whiter than the other stars. Right there."

"Oh." _There it is_. I feel strangely self satisfied when I find the planet. I turn my head to look at Jasper. He's not smiling - in fact he's almost frowning - but seems wholly content out here, sitting in the grass. "Where'd you learn all this?" I ask him quietly.

"Rose," Jasper answers. "She's always had her head up in the stars - more literally than most. Our Mom sorta showed us a few things as kids, 'n she just took it from there." I pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms tight around my knees. Jasper keeps filling the quiet, his smooth voice easing me back into calm. "It's what she's studyin' in school now. Well - a much more complicated version of that. _Astrophysics_. God only knows where she got that big brain of hers," Jasper chuckles.

"That's why she's in Houston," I clarify.

Jasper nods his head curtly. "Yeah," he says. "But, uh, when she was still around it was something we did together all the time. We'd find a spot 'n sit - sometimes she'd have me drag out her telescope - 'n then we'd just try to find everything we could. It was the only thing we had in common sometimes. Kept us both calm."

"It is calming," I agree, eyes turning to the sky. "We don't get stars like this in the city. You're lucky if you can even see a few. But this - this is like - like you can see the entire universe from this one spot."

Jasper breathes out a little laugh.

"There's so much out there."

"There is," Jasper agrees.

Looking up at the stars I finally feel like I can orient myself here, on Earth.

My panic evaporates, leaving my body with each slow breath I take into my lungs. I'm still shaken, more upset than I've been in awhile, but I feel strong enough to use my voice. Finally, I'm able to tell Jasper what I've been thinking all afternoon.

"I'm sorry about what happened between you and James," I softly say.

Jasper doesn't react at first. He stays still for a count, and then leans back against the fence with a weighty sigh. He turns to look at me, eyebrows furrowed together. "He was upset, Alice. He had a right to be upset."

I frown. "At me, maybe, but not at you. You did nothing wrong."

Jasper's eyes dart down to the grass below us. He clears his throat, shakes his head. Even in the dark, I see his jaw clench tight.

"... _Jasper?_"

"He told me," Jasper finally admits. "He told me. Yesterday mornin', he told me. He told me that he had a thing for you, 'n I … gave him _restaurant recommendations_."

"Wait, what?"

"For a date. With you."

"_What?"_

"Because I didn't know - I wasn't sure - I didn't - I didn't know if there was anythin' here, with us. I wasn't sure. And he - he seemed more than sure. The way James put it, romance was inevitable for you two. So I helped him. Then we went out, you know, and I swear I didn't have any intentions, but -"

"Things happened," I quietly reply.

"Yeah," Jasper says. "I'm sorry. I should've told you."

"No," I insist, shaking my head. "Don't be sorry. It's okay. I probably would've done the same thing. I would've just kept my mouth shut. It's a complicated situation. I mean, you've known us for all of two days."

"Almost _four_," Jasper answers, "but I still feel bad. He thinks I stole you away or somethin'."

I scoff and shake my head. "I was never his," I say, voice ringing clear. Jasper needs to understand what I'm saying without a question of doubt. "James and I have known each other for a long time. He's always been a loyal friend to me, you know? I just - I didn't know he felt anything more than that. Or maybe I did," I admit. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to see it. Relationships … they only complicate things."

I don't realize the implications of what I've said until after the words leave my mouth. I backpedal immediately. "I mean, _James and I_ _aren't right for each other_. We're better off as friends because I've _never_ been interested in him any other way. I can't change that, even if he wants me to."

"No, you can't," Jasper quietly agrees.

"And I shouldn't have told him about last night," I sheepishly admit to Jasper. "I don't know why I did, really. I just - I think I needed someone to talk to, and he was a friend. Or - I don't know. I thought he was, but I guess I'm not the best judge of character. I shouldn't have trusted him."

"Don't say that. Everyone makes bad choices. Doesn't make 'em bad people."

I turn my head quick in Jasper's direction. "You're defending him?"

Jasper shrugs his shoulders. "No, not exactly. I just think he's operatin' with his heart at the wheel instead of his brain. And sometimes your heart makes you do real stupid things." His mouth works its way into that same smile from the fire - the heavy, uncertain one. I try to smile back, but I can't manage more than a grimace. I know exactly what Jasper's talking about. Last night, neither of us had a brain at the wheel. And just like he said: _your heart makes you do real stupid things._

We fall into a deep stare, blue meeting honey.

"Jasper," I say, toeing towards the subject of our unexpected kiss.

"I know," he interrupts. "I know what I did last night was wrong. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."

My lips part, eyes going wide in surprise. Of all the reasons why last night was wrong, the idea of _Jasper having taken advantage of me_ never crossed my mind. "Taken advantage? _What are you talking about?_" I demand.

"I just - I thought -"

"_Taken advantage_," I repeat, letting out a huff. "I kissed _you,_ remember?"

"Yeah, but I kissed you back," he dutifully defends.

"Jasper, don't be ridiculous."

He frowns, eyebrows furrowing together above his nose. "But I did, I -"

I shake my head, not letting the man finish his thought. "I wanted you to kiss me back. I - if anyone took advantage of anyone last night, I took advantage of you. I was the one pouring tequila down your throat. I was the one who pulled you back out on the dance floor. I was the one who kissed you. I should be the one apologizing for what happened last night. I'm -"

"You're apologizing," Jasper finishes, like he's finally solved some complicated equation.

"Yeah," I say. "I am. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm the one who can't - I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have started something I can't finish. So, yeah, I'm apologizing."

Jasper deflates beside me. "Ah," he says, as if that's enough. His face goes stone-cold stoic, those beautiful honey eyes darting back up towards the sky. Jasper breathes, and breathes again, letting the deafening silence between us grow louder. I watch in what feels like slow motion as the man beside me comes to terms with what I've said. Jasper looks like he's shrinking, if that's physically possible.

I fidget nervously, trying to find a comfortable position for myself. Nothing feels good. My body is tense, my throat is tight, my eyes are stinging with tears. I feel hot. Embarrassed. Self-conscious. "Jasper, I'm sorry," I quietly say. "You have no idea how much I'd like to just play last night over again, for as long as we can. But we can't do that."

"You don't have to explain yourself," Jasper gently says. He turns his head back down and looks at me with eyes full of understanding. "It's not like it's any simpler a situation on my end. We live in totally different worlds. This thing between us just … isn't realistic."

"Yes," I breathe out. I sound relieved. I am relieved.

_Am I relieved?_

My throat hasn't unclenched. The tears won't ebb. All day, I've been waiting for this moment of release. I kept myself believing that if I was able to acknowledge last night for what it was - a mistake, a lapse in my constitution - that this pitiful feeling in my gut might subside. It hasn't. I don't feel better. I feel -

I feel worse.

Still, for some reason, I say: "thank you for understanding."

"Of course," Jasper instantly replies. "You're the one drivin' this car, darlin'. If you say we stay in the right lane, we stay in the right lane. I'm not gonna argue what you know is best. We can be friends. I'm more than happy with that."

"Friends," I agree. I smile at him, trying hard to make it look natural - _genuine_. He does the same.

"Well, we uh, we shouldn't spend all night just sittin'," Jasper eventually submits.

I know he's right. It'll all be less painful if I don't have to sit here playing friends with a man I want to be _so much more than friends with_. Still, I don't want to be anywhere else. Jasper is the best thing I've known for a long time.

"I don't want to go back out there," I groan in contention, using any excuse to spend more time in the shadows beside him.

"You don't have to," he assures me, the slightest of smiles reappearing on his face. "Honestly, I don't want to go back out there, either. You can always go in for the night, if you'd like. Or … I've got some chores to get done. You can come with me while I do all that."

I eye Jasper suspiciously, a single eyebrow quirked in question. "What kind of chores?"

_Masochist!_ I scream at myself. _Who voluntarily spends more time with a man they're trying to get over?_

"Just lockin' up for the night," Jasper assures me. "Goin' 'round and makin' sure all the paddocks got closed up properly 'n all that. Easy stuff."

_Sounds simple enough._ I unhook my arms from around my knees and stretch my legs out over the grass. I take a moment to fix my hair back into place, and then I stand. I flatten out the skirt of my sundress, taking careful note of how Jasper's eyes dart down to follow my hands, to eye the hem of my skirt. I clear my throat, and his eyes quickly pull back to my face. _This isn't going to be easy for either of us_, I think.

"I'm curious to see what your definition of _easy_ looks like. Besides, I could use a walk." _Excuses, excuses. _I hope he can't see right through me.   
  
Jasper scrambles up onto his feet. "I'd like that, ma'am."

"Hey!" I playfully scold, trying hard to play like I'm anything close to alright.

"_Miss_," he corrects, finally smiling something like a real smile.

A chunk of my heart breaks right off at the sight of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: hello readers! thanks again for reading our update & check back in next week for what should be a uh, real tipping point in the story. for any and all story inspo - especially the music used in each chap - check out my writing tumblr twiwrite ! your comments, thoughts, and criticism are appreciated! & as always, thank you LittleDarlingAJ!


	11. What's In A Name?

**_CHAPTER ELEVEN_  
**

* * *

_Hearts will skip a beat  
_ _Pulse will quicken  
_ _Lighter on your feet  
_ _Just a feeling  
_ _Falling in repeat  
_ _Love is a made-up word_

_( Love is a Made-Up Word, Hush Kids )_

* * *

WEDNESDAY  
**JASPER**

It's a bit of a walk to the northern barn, ten minutes walking fast, maybe fifteen with Alice's short-legged pace. We take the footwarn path past that curves around the smaller of the two nearby ponds then downhill all the way. We eventually meet back up with the dirt road that'll take us straight to the north barn. We go slow. Take our time; stretch ten to fifteen and fifteen to thirty. We keep up with this nervous sort of banter, pointless words bouncing back and forth with no real purpose except erasing the silence. I'm grateful for noise, whatever it is. Focusing on conversation means I can't focus on the persistent aching in my chest.

I diligently keep my distance, leaving enough room for the elephant in the room to stand right between us. I have to focus on it, too. Every so often Alice will catch my attention with a story or a glance and I find myself wandering in her direction. One blink and I'm at her side, a second away from doing something ridiculous like holding her hand. I have to force myself away time after time, meandering back and forth like I'm incapable of walking a straight line.

I tell her about my morning running errands in town, but even with mentioning my multiple stops for coffee, the whole story takes only a minute. I'm worried when an awkward quiet threatens to hang between us again, but Alice takes the reins, telling me all about her schedule for tomorrow. In fact, she tells me in such great detail that I almost lose track of what we're talking about. When Alice is finished regaling her plans for tomorrow, she goes on to tell me everything she hopes to get done before Sunday. I notice - with much scrutiny - that Alice doesn't once mention scheduling in a bit of fun. _I'll have to remedy that._

I open my mouth to question her, but snap it shut when that featherlight voice of hers sounds again.

"And then I'm off. Back to the real world," she finishes.

_This is the real world, _I think, looking around at the abundant nature around us._ More real a world than your concrete island. _I've never been there, but I'm already forming some rather strong opinions on New York. I don't like it. I don't like anything that takes Alice away from me. I don't like the reminder that New York is preferable to here in Alice's eyes, especially when that admission comes straight from her mouth.

"And then you're off," I echo.

"It's going to be weird going back to the city," Alice sighs. "It's going to feel too loud. Too hectic. Too …"

_"Concrete?"_

"Yes," she replies with diluted delight. "I'm going to miss this place, despite all the crazy of the past few days. All the open space, and the animals, and -"

"You can come back anytime you'd like, Alice," I blurt out too soon. If I'd waited just a second longer, maybe she would've said _me_. I could've heard it, straight from the angel's mouth:_ she'd miss me._

Alice quiets beside me. "I make no promises, but … I'd like that," she gently says. "This place just grows on you. I mean, I could do without the dirt and the humidity, but everything else …" she looks to me, blue eyes searching my face. "If I could drop this place right in the middle of New York I'd never leave."

And there it is again. The core of our problem. New York freakin' City. _What's so special about the place anyways? The smog? The street meat? The over-priced, crappy apartments? _I think bitterly.

"It's just - it's home, you know?"

My entire demeanour softens. I do know. _Of course I know_. I wouldn't give up my home for anything on this planet. I have no right to begrudge Alice for feeling the same way about hers.

I nod my head and smile, swallowing down any disappointment lingering from our conversation earlier tonight. "I get it," I tell her. "Like I said - you don't ever have to explain yourself to me." After a beat, I add: "besides, I've always liked a woman who knows her mind."

Alice ducks her head, lips pulling into a dainty smile. "That's the _one thing_ I know," she mumbles. I pretend not to hear.

"Tell me more," I say, "tell me about home. You said you have a brother, right?"

"I do. His name is Edward," Alice reminds me.

"Ah, yes - the old soul," I quip.

Alice chuckles meekly. "That's the one. Edward is two years younger than me, but about fifty feet taller. He's in school right now. Studying music. Composition, actually." Alice lists off facts about her brother one by one, like she's going through a practiced checklist. "He's dating my best friend, which sounds like hell, but they're literally perfect for each other so it's hard to complain. Besides - I've always had a feeling that Bella would be part of the family one day. I thought it'd just be by proxy, but having a sister-in-law would be _so much better_."

I go to ask Alice another question - about her parents this time - but Alice pipes up before I can utter a word. She's got a knack for that - steering a conversation in whichever direction she sees fit. "Did you ever go to college? Like Rose?" Alice asks, expertly turning the spotlight back on me.

I raise a curious brow at the woman beside me. "You really don't like talkin' about yourself, do you?"

She forces a humourless breath of laughter and shrugs her shoulders. "I uh, I like learning about other people," Alice explains, shooting me a quick and rather unconvincing smile. "That, and I find you kind of fascinating."

_That's hard to argue._ I clear my throat, and answer her question. "Yeah, I did. Just at the local community college, but I went. Graduated, too." An involuntary smile spreads across my face at the memory of my time spent in college, the only two years of my life I've spent focusing on anything other than this ranch.

"What did you study?"

"Business," I answer. "Borin' as hell, but vital if you're gonna get into somethin' like this. I took some classes in other things, too." Alice looks at me, waiting for more. I let out an embarrassed huff of laughter, looking down to the ground. "You know, like, history. _Philosophy_," I shyly admit. Those were courses I paid for out of my own pocket - my dad saw them as unnecessary. Frivolous.

"Philosophy?" Alice questions. "That sounds pretty interesting. More interesting than business, if you ask me."

"I liked it," I tell her, feeling oddly validated by her admission. "Probably would've picked it as a focus, you know, if I had any say in it."

Alice startles to a stop beside me.

"What?" I ask, turning to face her standing still as a statue beside me.

"You had no say in all this?"

I want to laugh at the woman's naivety. "No," I say, "not really. _Call it a family tradition_."

"But Rose got to -"

"Rosalie is her own woman," I interject. "She made it loud 'n clear from a very young age that the family business was not in her plan. Rose was going to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it."

"I can certainly appreciate that," Alice says, blinking away the last of her surprise. "But what about you? Wouldn't that give you the right to make the same choice?"

"Not necessarily," I reply. "It didn't leave much room for me to do the same. Someone had to stay behind to help out. Someone had to be here to take over, you know? To inherit the place." I clear my throat, not wanting to linger on the resentment that bubbles in my stomach when I think of the obligation surrounding my life. I love my job, I love my family, I love the ranch - that's all Alice needs to know.

Alice nods, mouth pursed. We resume walking.

"What about you?" I ask, trying Alice's own tactic. Maybe if I follow her lead - if I just keep throwing different questions in her direction - something will get her talking. "I'm guessin' you went to school for all this? Fashion 'n design 'n -"

The woman beside me chortles and shakes her head, brows furrowing together. "I didn't go to school for this," Alice clarifies. "I didn't actually go to college _at all_."

I try not to look as shocked as I am.

"I uh -" Alice begins, eyes darting down to the ground. She tucks her hair behind her ears, revealing more of her nervous smile. "School was never really my thing."

"So how'd you get into this?" I ask.

Alice sighs. "It's a long story," she admits. "Not very entertaining, either."

"I'd like to hear it."

I expect Alice to come up with some clever, possibly monosyllabic answer. Either that, or she'll ignore me altogether and find some new topic to ask me about. Alice does neither. Instead, she powers forward.

"Well, I got an internship," Alice begins. "I was sixteen. It was the summer before my junior year of high school. I applied to work with this big-wig design firm behind my parents' backs, never actually thinking I'd get it, but I did. And - well - I started working a few days later. It was all just running coffees and making copies at first, but it was a job in the industry. So I worked my ass off, made as many connections as I could, snuck my drawings in between other designers' portfolios -" we both chuckle at that " - and by the end of the summer, they offered me a real, paying position." Alice smiles a little. "I was just an illustrator, but everyone starts somewhere."

I can only nod my head in response before Alice continues. "I tried balancing the job and school for awhile, but, you know, the passion I had for my job won out time and time again. Every minute of my day was dedicated to the work I was doing. So … I fell behind in school. Eventually, I dropped out altogether - to do the work I was meant to be doing full time."

"And your … _family_ was okay with that?" I ask apprehensively, noting how Alice mentioned parents (multiple) despite having lost her mother. _There's a story there_, I think.

Alice laughs heartily. "No," she says. "My parents were … far less than thrilled. But I just - I wasn't going to let them stop me. I decided that if they wanted to throw me out on the street for being a frivolous idiot, then I'd let them. I knew what I wanted. I could figure everything else out." It sounds like a joke, but Alice's voice is absolutely humourless. " And it did take some time, but they came around. Eventually. They're completely supportive now. Like, crazy-over-the-top-embarrassingly supportive."

I furrow my brows, trying to piece together what I know of Alice's life so far: she lost her mother. She has a brother. But now she speaks of parent_s_, multiple. A step-mother, perhaps? _Or father._ Or aunts and uncles. For all I know, Alice could've been raised by a pack of wolves.

"I'm lucky. Carlisle and Esme are good people. Too good for me. Too good for any of us. I kind of lucked out in the parent department."

Carlisle and Esme. _Strange_. She calls her parents by their first names. Still, I have one answer: step-mother. Esme seems to be a step-mother. "Yeah," I answer, still caught up in my investigation. I blink a few times, trying to bring myself back to the present moment. "That's good," I say, "I mean, it obviously paid off. Look where you are now."

"I guess so," she humbly answers. "I could say the same about you, though._ Look at all this_." Alice lets out a breathless laugh, eyes darting from me up towards the barn we've been steadily approaching for quite a length of time. Just to the left of the red, wooden structure is a corral, much larger than the enclosures down by the house. There are a few horses still out grazing - Cinnamon, her young calf, my Ginger, and Holly and sturdy old Fern off in the distance.

"This place is beautiful," Alice softly croons. "The legacy your family built here is something worth protecting. I can see where your dad was coming from - of course he wanted someone to keep_ this _alive."

"I see that now," I tell Alice. "Took a long time. I was definitely bitter for awhile, thought I wanted somethin' way different than this, but I came around." I keep talking as we approach the fence, both of us stopping at the foot of the barrier. I lean against it, eyes trained on the horses in the distance. "When my dad got sick, you know, I really started tryin' to learn everythin' about him - I wanted to understand him while I could, y'know? It changed my perspective on everythin'. Especially after he uh …" I shake my head, and power through. "Made me see this place how he sees it. Seasons change, years pass and so do people, but this land was here before us and it'll be here long after we're gone. I'm one in a long line of people born lucky enough to take care of it all."

Alice hums her approval, watching Ginger approach with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. The horse nears closer and closer, and Alice eventually begins to shuffle back. I chuckle at her. I can't help it.

"What?" Alice asks.

"You're afraid of 'em, aren't you? You can tell me."

"No," she demands. "I'm just - I don't - I've never even had a dog. So I uh, I don't really know what to do around them."

"It's not so difficult," I tell her. "If you're nice and calm, she'll be the same with you."

Alice doesn't seem so sure. "C'mon," I say, "just watch me."

"Jasper -" she begins to argue. I just wave her off.

I put a bit of space between Alice and I, following along the length of the fence until I'm parallel with Ginger, just ten feet away from me. I click my tongue and quietly call the horse's name, holding my hand out like I've got something for her - a sugar cube or some other treat. It takes a moment, but Ginger eventually makes her way over to me, lazily nosing at my hand.

"Hey there, pretty lady," I quietly mumble to her. Too quiet for Alice to hear. I pet down Ginger's long, muscular neck, letting her relax into place before stepping back to invite Alice closer. "Come here," I offer, putting a welcoming smile on my face. "Come say hello. I think you two are meant to be good friends."

Alice huffs out something like a laugh and turns to face me, arms crossing over her chest. Despite her obvious apprehension, Alice still wanders over to us both. When she stops, she does so behind me, putting a good, safe distance between her and Ginger.

I chuckle, going back to pat the horse again. "See? She's real sweet up close."

Alice stays firmly in place, her nervous expression softening into interest the longer I stand unharmed at Ginger's side. "I mean, she _was_ very helpful last night," Alice notes softly, taking one step closer to us both.

"I guess she was," I say with another laugh.

When Alice makes it to my side I shift to make room for her, letting her stand exactly in my spot. "Stay right here. Don't move too fast, but you can pet her down her nose if you'd like, or down her neck. Just be gentle."

Alice glances at me over her shoulder and I nod, trying to encourage her along. She sighs out a breath and drops her arms, taking one step closer to the fence before trying anything further. The horse breathes out a huff of air and Alice tenses, hand frozen in mid-air. I watch her take in a breath, steady herself, and return to her mission in less than a second. At first contact with Ginger, Alice's whole self relaxes. "Well hello," I hear Alice say, words tangled in a chuckle.

She stands there petting Ginger in silence for awhile, but eventually finds her voice again. "Is she yours?"

"Guess so. Her 'n I have been together for a long time now. Longest relationship I've ever had."

Alice laughs at that.

After giving them their time alone, I move over to Ginger's other side. We stand across from each other, one on either side of Ginger's muzzle, both watching each other more than the horse. "See, look," I mutter, "you're a natural."

"I'm a quick learner," she replies. "Besides, I guess I did _kind of_ live with a dog once. Only for a few days. He belonged to a family I stayed with - he was this little white yappy thing, but he really liked me. Always slept at the foot of my bed. I remember I really wanted a puppy after that, but it just wasn't in the books when I was a kid. Then when I was older, my parents worked all the time and my brother and I were always out - you know, we just didn't want the poor thing to be alone all the time."

I nod, a little surprised that Alice is willingly offering so much information. What she speaks of is completely foreign to me - a life spent so frequently off of one's own property - but I can certainly appreciate where Alice is coming from. No creature wants to be alone.

"What do your parents do?" I ask. Alice's smile grows. She moves her hand from Ginger's neck to gently - tentatively - pet down the horse's muzzle.

"Carlisle is a surgeon," Alice says, pride dripping from every word, "and Esme is an architect."

_"Holy shit."_

She laughs, hand dropping off of Ginger's face. "_Yeah_. It's a lot to live up to."

My brows furrow. "That's a feeling I know well."

Everything goes quiet after that. We stand placated by the presence of our four-legged friend, indulging in a moment of pure understanding. Alice stares at me and I stare back, admiring how the white light of the moon touches her skin. When I look back up into Alice's eyes, the intensity locked within her stare hits me straight in the gut. I have to look down. She's just too much.

"Well, I've got to get these ladies back inside." I say, peeking up only for a second. "You can wait here if you'd like, or you can come 'round into the stable with me."

Alice considers her options for a split second and then smiles before taking her first step towards the stable. I fall in step with her, eventually leading Alice inside the recently renovated structure. Inside are a series of stalls, four on each side, and a path leading between them all that leads towards the far door and the corral outside it. I encourage Alice to follow me through the stable, and ask for her help is tugging open the huge, rolling barn door.

Ginger, my brilliant companion, is already standing right outside the door waiting for us. Alice lets out a surprised little laugh, taking a jumping step back away from the horse. I reach out for her hand and pull Alice off to one side of the door before encouraging Ginger to walk into the stable. "Hey there sweet thing," I say to Ginger. Then, to Alice: "She's a smart one - knows the routine better than the rest of 'em."

Alice watches the horse lazily walk by us into the stable. Once she's inside, her hooves click on the ground, a rhythmic click click click down the length of the structure. Ginger walks straight to the furthest stall on the left and wanders in, like she's done a hundred times before. After years of the same routine, the Quarter Horse knows just where she belongs.

I take my place beside Alice, off to one side of the wide open door, and I call out for Fern. She's the oldest - a quasi leader to the group out in the pasture. After calling her name I whistle, just once. She lifts her head and looks at me, turning her pale white body slow and steady. I call her name again and wait, hoping to God that these animals don't chose tonight of all nights not to listen to me. This _usually_ works.

"Do you do this every night?"

I shake my head. "No," I answer, calling Fern in again with a loud whistle. "It's good for them to be out in the pasture as much as they can - especially when the weather's nice most of the year like it is here. But with that storm comin' in, I don't want to take any chances. Not safe for anyone to be out in a thunderstorm." Fern starts trotting towards me. Holly follows in tow, then Cinnamon, then her foal.

She nods, understanding. Alice stays quiet, so obviously out of place. She'd done well with Ginger, but standing in the path of four horses has Alice tense. She takes a step back and still keeps her head up high, watching with curiosity as the herd follows my direction.

"How d'you do that?" She asks breathlessly.

"Trainin'," I explain. "Just takes time and some sugar cubes."

I smile at Alice and she smiles back. One by one, the horses walk into the stable, followed last by our newest addition. Smart little thing - even on her second day, she knows well enough to follow her mother whatever direction she leads. They all make way into their stalls, save for Holly, who's always proved a little more stubborn than the rest. It takes a lot of gentle coaxing, but eventually everyone is put away for the night with ample oats and hay.

Alice just hovers. That is, until little Soot tangles himself around her feet. She gasps and takes a step back, startled at first before realizing the black mass at her feet is nothing but a measly little barn cat. "Oh," she says, bending down to give the cat a good scratch. "Who's this?"

"Soot," I say. "I think. Might be Moose. The boys usually name 'em and it's hard to keep track. They all look the same after a while."

"You're very sweet, aren't you, little Soot," Alice says softly. I turn to watch them as I lock Cinnamon's stall. The cat twists and turns to soak up all of Alice's loving attention. She smiles, erupting into a full on fit of giggles when the cat paws at her. "Now that's a pet much more your size," I quip.

Alice's head snaps up, face flooded with pink. She breathes out a laugh and stands, trying, I think, to make herself seem more _sizeable_. "Hey, I can handle my own with the big guns," she replies, strolling over to me and Cinnamon. Alice peeks through the gate into the stall, smiling when she sees the mother and her foal. "What about that little distraction right there - the one who kept you from going shopping with me," she accuses dramatically, " - what's her name?"

"You know, we haven't really gotten that far yet," I explain, mouth pulling into a frown. I feel bad - I'd been so preoccupied with Alice over the last forty-odd hours that I hadn't bothered to decide on a moniker for the little lady. "Why don't you name her?" I suggest, solving the problem with the root of its cause.

"_Jasper_." She scoffs.

"No, I'm serious. I mean, 'round here we've all had the chance a million times. I'm guessin' this might be your one and only chance to name a horse." I pause a beat, then add, "who turns down a one in a lifetime opportunity?" _I mean that more than I let on._

Alice smiles a lopsided smile, inching closer to the foal's pen again. "Is this how you woo all the ladies?" She teasingly asks.

"Why, Alice!" I reply, playfully chaste. "I would never. This is _serious ranch business_."

Alice eyes me suspiciously, but accepts my offer nonetheless. "Alright," she says, pursing her lips as she watches the small thing huddle up towards its mother. She furrows her brows, tilts her head just so, and watches the horses interact with a gaze so intentional any passerby could guess exactly what she was doing.

I start to laugh.

"Shut it," she grumbles. "I can't think when you're making all that noise."

It only makes me laugh more.

"I'm serious! Be quiet or you'll end up with a dud like … _princess_ or _spot_."

This is Alice. This woman, right here. The chatty one. The happy one. The smiley, dramatic, deliberate one. I know it. I can see it in her eyes, that this is the core of her. But I know what else is there, too. Sadness. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Qualities that I know, inside and out, simply from looking in the mirror. Every part of her creates a whole, unshakeable woman that I can't help but admire, even when she's huffing in my face.

As Alice watches the horses, I move in her direction. I end up behind her. _Close enough to see into the stall, _I tell myself._ It has nothing to do with her. _But Alice shifts, head tilting from one direction to the other, and I can't help but watch how the exposed muscles of her upper back rearrange in the process. Her choppy hair moves over the soft skin there and her scent wafts towards me - vanilla and sunscreen and something else sweet, like peach.

Alice tenses in front of me, shoulders coming right up to her ears. Her breath hitches.

That's when I realize I touched her. Just by accident. My hand brushed against her arm - only for a second - but it certainly affected Alice. She turns on her heel, looking up at me with those big blue eyes of hers, and I shift closer - just a magnet attracted to its match. I want so desperately to lean in and press my lips to hers. It'd be easy. It'd take less than a second. I lean in. She'd taste like she did, like liquor and salt -

_Except she won't taste like liquor and salt._

_This isn't last night. This is today._

_Today, Alice has made herself loud and clear: you are not what she wants._

_This is not what she wants._

"I'm sorry," I immediately say, taking one considerable step back. I keep my eyes open wide, searching Alice's face for any signs of discomfort.

"Jasper, I don't know how to do this," she mutters, brows furrowed.

I know exactly what she means, but still, I say: "name a horse? It's not -"

"You know that I feel something for you," she says, a jumble of nervous words. "I feel - I feel a lot of things for you, actually. Every time you so much as look at me, it's like -" she laughs, almost pathetically. "Like I have no control over my own mind. I - I keep trying to tell myself that I don't, but I do. I like you," Alice admits, flushing bright red.

I smile. I can't help it. It's a jaw-breaking kind of smile.

Alice's big blue eyes scan my face and she begins to frown, delicately shaking her head back and forth. "No, Jasper, you don't - It's not a good thing."

"It's not?" I ask, smile faltering.

She shakes her head again, still primary red. "I can't like you."

"You can't?"

Alice looks away from me, her usually perfect posture crumbling. She opens her mouth as if going to talk, then snaps it shut. Alice does the same again and again, struggling to find the right thing to say to me. Panic rises in my chest. My heart pounds so loud I can hear it in my ears, so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. _She's already told me once tonight that nothing will ever happen between us, romantically. Maybe now she's realizing we can't be friends either. Maybe it's all just too much._

She sighs, pulling me back to reality. "We can't do this," she reiterates.

The needy idiot in me takes control, talking before I realize what's being said. "We could make something work, Alice. We could fight for this. There are planes and trains and cars and phones and computers and a million ways to -"

"Jasper, it's more than that," she deftly replies. "It's so much more than that."

"Then tell me," I insist. "Talk to me. Explain it to me. Don't just - don't just tell me you can't." I'm not in control anymore. My heart is at the wheel, spouting words without consulting my common sense first. This ridiculous, love-hungry organ of mine knows what it wants, and what it wants is Alice.

Alice shifts, one hand flying up to nervously rub at the back of her neck. She gapes again, head shaking back and forth.

"Alice, please," I gently urge, "you can tell me whatever it is you need to tell me. Just help me understand."

Finally, Alice finds her voice. And what a voice it is - loud, demanding, shaking with nerves. "It's me, okay? It's me. I'm terrified. I'm scared out of my mind. I can't - I can't do this. I've never done this before, okay? I don't do feelings. I don't - and - and - the second I allow myself to feel something for you, all these alarm bells go off in my mind. I've never had feelings like this for another person before, not big feelings. It's just - I've never felt something like this before, and it scares the hell out of me."

"Why?" I demand. "Why does that scare you? Because you don't want to feel anything, or because you _really do_?"

"Jasper -"

"You're so much braver than you know, Alice. You're allowed to be scared. You're supposed to be scared. Hell, I am. I'm - I have no idea what this thing is between us. Of course that's scary. But I - I want to try anyways. I want to be there for you, however you want me."

"I don't know how to do that," she replies, looking down at her feet.

"We can learn together," I answer. "We can be brave together."

Alice shifts her weight between her feet, eyes darting towards the door - her closest exit. I take a nervous step backwards, knowing I've pushed her more than enough in the last few minutes.

"I want that," she quietly admits, staring outside. "You have no idea how badly I -" Alice stops the thought dead in its tracks, shaking her head like it might erase whatever it was she was thinking.

"Then please, Alice, let's do it. Let's try. Let's be brave."

She looks at me fast, but not fast enough to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. Alice shakes her head, worrying that plump bottom lip of hers between her teeth. She looks to the floor, then the horses, then the ceiling - anywhere but me. Suddenly, she stills, body going stiff.

"Did you hear that?" Alice asks.

I blink at her in confusion.

"Thunder," Alice says.

"I don't hear -"

"It's far," she says, "but I hear it."

It doesn't need to be said. _Our conversation is over. Alice has had enough._

We both keep watching outside, eyes locked on the sky. Something rumbles in the distance, like heavy truck tires on a road or a strong gust of wind. I'd write it off as something like that, if it wasn't followed by an impressive show of lightning. The entire field - stretching back towards where I found Alice earlier - is illuminated in a weird, purple sort of colour.

"Guess that's that," I say, defeated. "Better finish up and head inside before we get stuck in another downpour."

Alice's face softens into a sad kind of smile. "Yeah," she says, still avoiding my gaze. "I think you're right."

**…**

The rain starts not long after we get back to the house. Alice hovers by the front door, watching the rain come down in a neverending sheet, staring like she's never seen a downpour before.

"Well," she says, almost too quietly for me to hear, "it's late. I should go to bed." Alice turns away from the window, slowly wandering across the room to land right in front of me.

I don't argue with her. I feel guilty still for what I said in the stable - I shouldn't have pushed, and I know it, but my heart got the better of me, just for a moment. Alice has been tense ever since.

"Alright," I say. "Sleep is - yeah, sleep is a good idea. I should probably do the same. I uh, didn't sleep much last night." _Or at all._

Alice nods her head, eyes locked on the stairs perched behind me.

We stand in the dark, surrounded by the sounds of a storm, neither looking at the other. I watch the window directly behind her, mesmerized by the wild rain, almost falling sideways from the strength of the wind. When I finally pull my attention back to the woman before me, Alice's eyes are on my face, burning holes into my skin. She hugs herself, arms wrapping tight around her waist, but those eyes of hers never so much as blink. 

_More than anything, I just want to know what she's thinking._

She just keeps staring, for an uncomfortable length of time. I try to keep her stare, but every second spent staring into those eyes I fall deeper and deeper. If I'm ever going to be okay with this - with having Alice around without ever _having_ her - I'm going to need some distance. _Soon._

I clear my throat, forcing my attention away from Alice. "Actually, I have some work I should really get done first," I say.

"Oh," Alice says, looking down to study the wood floor between us. "Alright. Well, uh, I, uh -"

I nod.

"Sleep well," Alice breathes out.

"You too," I quietly reply.

She leaves, wandering up the stairs in what feels like slow motion. I watch her all the while, right until she disappears onto the second floor. I'm left alone in a cloud of confusion, wondering where exactly Alice and I stand after the events of the past hour. _She likes me_, I think. _She really, genuinely likes me. _I'm terribly aware of everything else - of all the fear and anxiety and uncertainty surrounding us - but that's the one fact I keep coming back to: Alice likes me. Big feelings, she called them. _Big feelings_. I know what that's like. I've got some big feelings of my own.

I keep ruminating on that one facet of our conversation, one moment playing over and over in my mind like a broken record. Answering emails doesn't distract me. Checking inventory does squat. Not even a drink of my dad's scotch clears the thought of _Alice liking me. _I tell myself that time cures all ails, that the aching in my chest will subside eventually, but it doesn't. Hours pass, and like the storm still angrily roaring outside, this big, uncomfortable feeling of loss weighs down the air around me. Nature is at war with itself. So am I.

Two gentle knocks echo through the office.

I snap my head up, so fast I'm surprised I don't feel whiplash.

Alice is standing in the doorway. She's shrouded by darkness but I know it's her by outline alone - messy hair, rounded shoulders, a lithe, little body. Two glassy eyes shine out from the dark, so startlingly catlike and wild. When she takes a step closer, illuminated by the yellow light of my desk lamp, I notice more. Or, more specifically, I notice less. _Less clothing. _Alice is wearing - well - basically nothing. What she's wearing is pink, or maybe white, and looks to be made of something soft. Silk, I think. One thing is for sure: the little slip is the _only thing_ Alice is wearing.

Thunder tumbles overhead, slow and long and steady, like a drumroll.

"Alice - is everything alright?" I ask, forcing my voice through a tight throat. "Is the storm keeping you awake?" I keep my eyes firmly on Alice's face, ignoring the way her heaving breath draws attention to her barely-clad chest. I set down the pen I've been clutching in my fist, trying to keep from submitting to the primal part of me that wants to catapult over this fucking desk to get to her faster. I blink, clearing away any lingering primal thoughts.

"I was thinking," Alice says softly. She takes another few steps forward before speaking again. "... _About what you said earlier_."

"Oh?" I ask, "what were you thinking?"

"I don't want to go on wondering what my life would've been like if I had just been a little more _brave_," she says, closing the distance between us.

It's a conversation so minimal I'd barely even consider it one, but there's nothing else for Alice to say. That one admission is all I've ever wanted - all I've ever _needed_ \- to hear. Something clicks in me. I move on autopilot, up out of my chair and on my feet in less than a second.

Alice's slow, even steps dissolve into a full on run.

We collide somewhere near the middle of my office.

For someone so small she's surprisingly strong. Her body slams hard against mine and I stumble backwards - one step, then two - only able to keep us upright by wrapping my arms low around Alice's waist. Before I can say a word, Alice reaches up to take a hold of my face.

She kisses me hard. Desperately. Her hands fist into my shirt, pulling me in until I'm firmly against her body. I don't mind. I'll go wherever she leads. I kiss her, too, like I've wanted to since we left Lonely's last night.

We tumble around, struggling against the impressive height difference between us. Alice stretches up on her tippy toes and I bend over, almost in half, both of us trying to find some reasonable middle ground. It's almost ridiculous. It's only when my hip catches against the corner of my desk that I get an idea that just might work. I easily hoist Alice up onto the desktop, eliciting a surprised little yelp from her parted lips. Alice watches me with wide, lust-blown blue eyes, waiting not so much as a second before dragging me back towards herself.

This works much better. We're almost the same height this way, or at least close enough for Alice to wrap her arms firmly around my neck. I wind up positioned between her legs, which she swiftly hooks over my hips.

_Who the hell is this woman?_

Alice kisses my mouth, then along my jaw, effectively stuttering my heart to a stop.

My hands fly up into her hair and I gently guide Alice back to my mouth. I lean into her, pressing all the want I've been feeling into one kiss after another. Thunder explodes outside, followed soon after by an audible crack of lightning. We part, eyes opening to a pitch black room. Thunder rumbles again. The lights flicker, then turn back on. Alice turns her head to watch the light above us, and I take the opportunity to dive in, pressing my mouth to the sweet, soft skin of her neck. She gasps, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt. "_Jasper_," she breathes. My name never sounded so good. I chuckle at Alice's reaction, moving back to catch her lips with my own. We go on, making out like two horny teenagers desperately pawing at each other in the dark, until Alice lets out a particularly wonton whine.

I pull back, taking that beautiful face of hers between my hands. "Alice, what do you want?" I gently ask.

She smiles bright, her hands coming up to cover over my own. Alice lurches forward, letting her lips press against mine again - softer, this time, like she's melting with each and every touch. "You know what I want," she whispers against my mouth.

My hands curl into the silky fabric covering her hips and I can't keep myself from hoisting the material just a little higher up around her legs. I have to force myself to unfurl my hands, in order to stretch across her back. I lift Alice up off the desk easily once she's wrapped in my arms.

Alice laughs, clinging onto me for dear life. _"Jasper!"_

I turn, take a few steps, and press Alice's back hard against the wall. "Tell me what you want, Alice." I say.

"Take me upstairs," she answers, breathless.

_That, I can do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WOOMP THERE IT IS!
> 
> Will one night be enough? Will Alice be okay with her decisions come the light of day? Tune in next week for more of Golden Hour!
> 
> PS: Starting now, I'll be writing Golden Hour's After Hours, a collection of more ... mature moments from the Golden Hour series! To read more about Alice and Jasper's rendezvous and get in on all that glorious smut, check back in the next week or so for BLACKOUT, the companion chapter to this one here. Any and all future "M" rated moments (ok all the smut) will be posted in After Hours, with an appropriate mature rating. This is simply to keep this fic (Golden Hour) accessible to a larger audience, while still indulging the less-than-work-appropriate aspects of Jalice's relationship! Any and all mature chapters posted in After Hours will NOT impact the plot in any way, and can be simply read as one-shots, or simple fill-ins to this main fic. YOU WILL NOT MISS ANY PLOT BY SKIPPING THESE CHAPTERS!
> 
> A huge shout-out to LittleDarlingAJ who put up with me complaining / struggling through this for the past two weeks. You are an angel sent from Jalice heaven.
> 
> And, as always, for more fic information, inspo, and updates please check out www . twiwrite . com !
> 
> (PS: I apologize for the lack of update last week! If you ever come back on a Tuesday and see that I haven't updated, check out the tumblr listed above for more information! I will always post a little PSA if my updates are going to be running late :) )


	12. Shifting Gears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THIS IS LATE! It's 2 AM here which is about uh, 4-ish hours later than I hoped to get this up, so I do apologize! But here it is!
> 
> Just a little FYI that I'm bumping up the rating on the story to M, just because the content is uh, easing towards the more mature side and I just want to be safe. Any any all TRULY NSFW content (the smut u guys) WILL STILL BE POSTED IN AFTER HOURS. So the one shot off of last chapter - AKA Jalice's first time - will be up SOON, but it's taken me some time as I've been writing these concurrently.
> 
> I love you all for sticking with me so far. Thanks for reading this dramatic bullshit?
> 
> Also, thank you to those of you who are constantly out here following / reviewing / kudos-ing / sharing / everything you do. It really honestly keeps me writing, so THANK YOU!
> 
> And as always, LittleDarlingAJ is a queen and deals with far too annoying questions from me. She deserves all the money in the world.
> 
> & check out twiwrite on tumblr for more Golden Hour content !

_ **CHAPTER TWELVE** _

* * *

_Girl meets boy  
_ _And boy, he's a looker  
_ _Can't separate salt from the sugar_

_There's nothin' in your pockets_  
There's footprints on your face  
You can't tell anymore  
If you're the rabbit or the snake

_( Stupid, Kacey Musgraves )_

* * *

THURSDAY  
**ALICE**

I wake up to the feeling of something tickling my back. It's gentle. Little, quick presses of warmth here and there, moving up towards the back of my neck. I wiggle my body, pressing backwards to try and get more of that warmth on my skin, but my back presses into a rock before I'm able to get anywhere. My eyes open on impact, my head twisting around to try and see what it was I'd collided with. Just as I adjust to the morning light, I feel it again, that ticklish feeling.

_It's Jasper. I'm in Jasper's bed._

Jasper is kissing my shoulder. My very bare shoulder. I shift, just slightly, leaning into the sensation, and I realize that all of me is very bare. We fell asleep naked, still tangled up as we'd been for most - if not all - of the night. My heart skips a beat.

"Good morning," he says, voice raspy.

I twist in his cotton sheets, turning and turning until I'm on my other side, face to face with the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Jasper. Early morning sun eases in through his curtains, highlighting the blond of his matted curls, the sweet, light golden brown of his eyes. Or maybe they're green. I'll never be able to tell. His eyelids are still heavy with sleep, his jaw and cheeks covered in scruff. He's perfect. Absolutely, wonderfully, perfect. Jasper smiles, showcasing those charmingly crooked front teeth, and I'm no longer convinced this is actually my reality. I can't be this lucky. "Good morning," I reply, untangling an arm from the sheets so I can reach out and touch Jasper's face. _Okay, so he is real_, I tell myself. _Last night wasn't a dream. Neither is this._

My body is tired - admittedly a little sore - but I wiggle myself closer to Jasper, close enough to curl my fingers into his tangled hair. He leans in, still smiling, and I press my lips to his. Once, twice, three times. Jasper's arm finds its way around my waist, fingers splaying out across my still bare back. My mouth parts at his touch, inviting Jasper to deepen the kiss. He tightens his grip, effectively keeping me tight against his chest. Then he rolls us both, landing my head back against the pillow. He hovers above me for a moment, that same look in his eyes that I grew addicted to last night. I reach up and pull Jasper's face down to my own, desperate for more of him. He laughs against my mouth.

"What?" I question, the word squished between eager kisses.

"You sure wake up quick," Jasper teases, pulling back to put some distance between us.

I fall back against the pillow with an overdramatic huff. "You're the one who woke me up looking like that."

"This is just what I look like, Alice," he says, all fucking smug. "Nothin' I can do about that."

"And I'm not allowed to enjoy it?" I ask, blinking innocently back at him.

Jasper groans in response, his head dropping until his forehead is resting against mine. "You certainly are," he replies, nose brushing against my own. Jasper's lips ghost against my mouth, then down along my jaw. He lands by my ear, breath sending shivers down my spine. "But …"

I take the opportunity to slide my arms around his neck, as far as I can down the expanse of his bare back. "But what?" I demand, surprised that I can find my voice at all.

"_It's eight thirty_," he mutters.

"No it's not," I say with a laugh.

Jasper turns his head, pressing a line of kisses down the skin of my neck. "Certainly is," he replies.

I shift in his grip, eyes darting around the room to try and source out any kind of clock. Jasper takes the opportunity to press one more kiss to my face before rolling off of me and onto his own pillow. He reaches past his edge of the bed and produces an alarm clock, flashing a bright red _8 : 3 6 am._

"_Oh my God_," I groan, the only thought I have before my body lurches into motion. I fight against Jasper's sheets, trying hard to untangle myself from both his arms and the dark blue cotton all at once. He laughs as I tumble my way out of bed, desperately trying to fashion myself a robe out of his bed sheet, but it's all I've got to cover myself while I frantically search for my nightgown. I find the thing abandoned by the foot of Jasper's bed, along with the strewn remainders of his clothing from yesterday. Blush floods my face, heat spreading down my neck at the memory of exactly _why_ I'd woken up naked in Jasper's bed. _Oh my God._

I stare at my nightgown clenched desperately in my hands, the same one that Jasper easily worked off my body last night.

"You alright, darlin'?"

I turn my eyes in his direction, finding Jasper leaning back against the pillows, his tone chest exposed. He's smiling, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a fantastic smirk. "I've got to get dressed," I hastily answer, trying to drag my mind away from the thought of that mouth working wonders on my body.

He nods, looking as though he's giving my mindless rambling serious, in-depth consideration. "I think you might want to shower first," Jasper finally says.

My face gets hotter, if that's even possible. I must be red as a lobster by now. "Right. I need to shower."

With that, he drags himself to his feet, stretching out his long and lean and naked body with every languid step. Jasper keeps a lazy smile on his face as he walks right by, outlined by the hazy, almost silver morning light seeping in through the windows. My eyes never leave his form, hungry to see every inch of his skin now better illuminated by the light of day. I stand there unblinking, lost in the fog of my own freakin' hormones, until I hear the splash of a shower being turned on.

"C'mon darlin'," Jasper drawls, the raspy tenor of his voice dragging me closer.

_So, the shower's definitely not the only thing being turned on._

I know - _I seriously know_ \- that I'm running late, and I know that I shouldn't let Jasper derail my day further. I know that I should find my own shower, get dressed, and get to work as soon as I possibly can, but _this does count as getting in the shower. _I tell myself:_ there's nothing wrong with a little water conservation, right? _It doesn't take much convincing before I'm walking towards the bathroom, dropping Jasper's sheet and my nightgown to the floor in the process.

He's already soaking wet when I join him in the glass shower stall, curls weighed down into a thick curtain of dark blond. Water catches on his cheekbones and his chin, and when I get closer I see them on his eyelashes, too. We both just stand and enjoy the warmth of the water - _and each other_ \- for awhile, until Jasper reaches a hand up to my face, to brush a strand of soaking wet hair off my cheek.

He swoops in to kiss me, eyes falling closed, but I take the opportunity to grab a hold of his arm, twisting it around to reveal the scars I'd found there last night. They start just above his shoulder, coming down in twists and turns, some straight, some like eerie crescent moons, all so long healed they're barely visible. All but one: the long, definite, surgical scar that dissects his forearm. "What's this?" I ask, using my free hand to trace along the pinkish line.

Jasper shakes his head and gently pulls his arm out of my grip before reaching down to my hip, turning me just slightly. He lifts his hand, fingers tracing out the three letters tattooed on my left rib cage. "What's_ this_?" he asks head still lowered towards me. Then he reads aloud, "_M - A - B_."

I twist out of his grip, his warm fingers falling off of my skin. "That's a long story," I cautiously reply.

He smiles. "Call us even, then."

_I didn't expect that_. My huffing reply is interrupted by the hungry press of Jasper's lips against my own. He takes my face between my hands and holds me still, effectively distracting me from … whatever it was we were talking about with a series of precise, almost dutiful kisses.

"God, you're so tall. I feel like I need a stepladder just to get to your face," I say, after having broken our kiss by falling back on my heels.

Jasper laughs and tries to shift a little lower, his lips easily catching my bottom lip again. I still have to stretch, reach up as high as I can on the tips of my toes. I've never felt so small.

"Maybe I gotta shrink a size or two," he says, before putting his mouth back on mine.

"That could work," I quickly reply, tugging him further down.

"So much easier when we're both horizontal," he groans, arms snaking low around my waist.

I start to laugh, but the sound shifts into a startled yelp when Jasper lifts me off the ground. I wrap around him instinctively and hold on tight, glad to find that his mouth is much easier to access from this height. My hands curl into his hair, and my lips finds his for another desperate kiss.

Jasper's shower quickly becomes one of my favourite places.

It's almost ten by the time I actually find my way into Rose's room, where the rest of my belongings are. I get dressed slowly, my entire body - mind included - loose after an excessively _hot_ shower, and try hard to focus on concealing my sleepless night with a little makeup.

I see Jasper appear in the mirror, stopped at Rose's bedroom door with his hat in his hands. His hair is still damp. His smile is still so genuine that my heart grows at the sight of it.

"I gotta head out 'n find Peter. See what I missed this mornin'. You alright here?" He asks me.

I nod my head in response and turn to face him, my own smile ridiculously big. "I'm more than capable of getting myself ready for work, Jasper."

Jasper looks down at his shoes and chuckles, surrendering to me with a shake of his head. "Alright, alright," he mutters. "Well, what's your day look like? When can we - when can I see you next?"

I feel a thrill at the knowledge that he's eager to see me again. I want to say: _screw today, let's go back to the shower_, but the responsible adult in me answers instead. "God, honestly, I have no idea. I don't even know where we're gonna shoot today, after all that rain last night. I'm sure everything is just sludge out there." Jasper lets out an appreciative hum. "But before I can even think about that," I continue, "I've got to talk to James. Or, grovel, really. Even if he truly hates my guts, we need a photographer to get through the day. I need to play nice."

Jasper looks away, weight shifting between his feet. I can hear him huff, even from across the room.

"What?" I ask, a single brow raised in question.

"Can't say I'm a big fan of the guy is all."

"Right now, neither am I," I breathe out. "Yesterday was … I've never seen him like that. It's like the second he knew that nothing was going to happen between us, something changed."

"Just be careful, alright?" Jasper puts on a friendly expression, just for me.

I want to laugh. I want to think it's ridiculous that I should be careful around a man I know so well, but I don't. Jasper is right. James - or at least the James I came to know yesterday - is no longer the same person I was dealing with yesterday morning, or the morning before. I can't laugh about it. It's not funny, not even a little bit. "Of course," I say, "but try not to be worried, okay? It may surprise you, but I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

Jasper nods his head and stands a little straighter, unable to stop the smile that threatens to return to his face. "Oh, I know it. I wouldn't bet against you any day. James better watch his back."

I laugh, and so does he.

"Alright," he says, "good luck, then." Jasper turns to walk away, and I jolt into action, hurrying after him in a pathetic attempt to keep up.

"Hey," I say, "wait." Jasper stops, turns to face me. "Can you - can you meet me in the mess hall in twenty minutes for a cup of coffee?" I ask. I've got a pretty crazy day, but -" He smiles brilliantly at my suggestion.

"Yeah," Jasper answers. "Yes. Of course." His happy spills out, washing over me like light from the sun.

"Good," I breathlessly reply.

Jasper takes one huge step forward, then another, crossing the room in a matter of strides. One of his big hands tangles into my hair and he leans down, pressing his lips to my forehead in one swift, sweet movement. It's a moment so tender, so heartfelt**,** so _domestic_, that I start to reconsider the hasty agreement we'd come to last night, between all the greedy, fervent lovemaking. This thing - whatever it is that Jasper and I have - doesn't feel like some small, easy love affair. As much as I want it to be, I know it's not.

Jasper is gone when I open my eyes.

It takes a lot to bring myself back down to Earth. I finish getting ready in a daze, stuck somewhere between the memory of that first, desperate kiss we shared last night and the burning spot on my forehead, where Jasper's lips were only a few seconds ago.

_Seventy-two hours_, give or take. That's all I've allowed for us. I wonder how many kisses I can squeeze in before then. How many touches. How many glances. No matter the number, even if I squeeze out every waking minute we have between now and sunrise Sunday morning, it won't be enough. I'll never have enough. Not unless I learn how to press rewind on my life - maybe then I can live last night over again and again, until I somehow get my fill of him. I can't do that. If I could, I would. Instead, I'm stuck with what's inevitable: _pain_. For me and for Jasper. And I've invited it in, welcomed it with open arms. This thing we have has to end, one way or another. Whether it's tonight, or Sunday, our expiry was fated long before we ever began.

Once I'm firmly on the ground, far away from the cloud I'd woken up on, I gather my belongings - save for my cell phone, which I'm hoping is sitting in wait on James' desk, or maybe by the fire pit - and the two garment bags hanging on the back of Rosalie's door. I walk downstairs and out of the Whitlock house, then down off the back porch and towards the cabins, not really paying attention to my surroundings all the while.

I try to focus on today's shoot, or the conversation I'm about to have with my (potentially furious) photographer, but all I can think about is Jasper. It would be annoying, really, my inability to think straight, if Jasper wasn't the only thing around here able to put a smile on my face. _God, I really don't want to hurt him._ The thought echoes through my mind again and again, until I feel sick to my stomach.

I don't see anyone heading towards me before I hear Irina's voice, shrill as ever. "Where have you been?" She demands. "I was just on my way to the house to see if you died or something."

I shift the garment bags in my hands, trying to see the woman approaching me better. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I think I left my phone in James' cabin or something," I say. "I lost track of time."

Irina continues to strut towards me, her hair done in over-the-top curls and makeup flawlessly executed. She's wearing jean shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt, which looks wholly unnatural against her perfectly-done-everything-else. "It's almost ten!" She huffs, before reaching out to help me with the garment bags. "I know. I uh, I had to uh, finish the alterations on the uh - "

"Thank God Kate had the mind to start getting us all ready without you an hour ago or we'd lose the whole morning!"

"Irina," I snap, too sleep deprived to put up with her complaints. "_I said I know_, _okay? I'm sorry._" I shove the second garment bag into Irina's arms. "Just - can you bring that to Angela and uh, shit, I think the other one is for Kate."

"What are we going to do? The ground is a mess again like -"

"I know. I just - I need to talk to James first. Have you seen him?"

"No," Irina snorts. "Thought maybe you two were off somewhere together. I haven't seen him since last night. He showed up at the campfire for a little bit, right after you and _Paul Bunyan _ran off together, but no one's seen him since then."

"Okay," I say, already walking away.

"Where'd you two get off to last night anyways? Seems like everyone disappeared. Even -"

"Irina, can you fill me in later? I really need to go find James," I say, being patient as humanly possible. I throw Irina a quick, albeit forced, smile and turn back to my mission. I hear Irina grumble something in defeat, which means I'll probably be dealing with her backlash later, but right now I've got bigger issues at hand than a grumpy model.

First being the fact that I'm thoroughly convinced James has left altogether, just packed his things and headed North. Standing outside the door of his _very quiet_ cabin, I'm only growing more sure of it.

"James? Are you here?" I call, banging my fist against the door a second time. I try to come up with other reasons why he might not be answering while I wait. _He's in the mess hall, eating breakfast. He's scouting for a dry location. He's hungover and oversleeping. He's hungover and ignoring me. He's just ignoring me. He's had a massive MI in his sleep and died._

I knock again. "I really need to find my phone," I try. When no one answers for a third time, I go ahead and let myself in.

"Are you in -" I notice a flash of bright red, curly hair before seeing two totally naked bodies. _"Oh!"_ I shout, not in control of my own mouth. James and my newest model, the only one I had to scout for the shoot, both startle awake. Quickly - _so fucking quickly!_ \- I back myself out of the room. I slam the door shut and stand there, totally dumbfounded.

Irina passes me by, still carting one of the garment bags. "You find James?" She casually asks, totally unaware of the scandal I'd just unmasked.

"Yeah," I breathlessly call back, trying to erase the terrible, nightmarish image of _everything I just saw. _"I was trying to tell you that Victoria's missing, too," Irina replies, never stopping for a beat.

"No she's not," I manage. _I've already found her._

Just then, Victoria slips out of James' cabin, wearing a too-big t-shirt that I assume isn't hers, because _her _clothes - pants, top, bra, underwear, shoes included - are all in her arms.

"What are you doing?" I chastise, eyeing the woman with scrutiny. "I thought I didn't have to worry about you."

"Then you're just as naive as you look," she purrs in reply, shaking her head at me like I'm some _stupid little toddler_ before gracefully pushing past me.

_Yeah, well, then enjoy the chlamydia_, I bitterly think, even though I know my anger is best directed somewhere else.

I suck in a calming breath and turn back towards James' cabin, trying my best to keep from exploding with rage. I stomp in, ready to tell the man off, only to see that James is still lying in bed, naked as the day he came. I turn on my heel and slip out the door again, only to slam it shut with a resounding thud. I could scream. I can't believe this man's fucking disregard for, well, any kind of decency. "Can't you put on some Goddamn clothes?" I shout, slamming an angry fist against the door.

"What's your fucking problem?" I hear him say.

_That's enough._

I push back into the cabin, no longer interested in whether or not James has managed to dress himself. He has found a pair of jeans, thank God, but I James could be naked as the day he came, and it wouldn't stop me from kicking him where it hurts.

"What did you just say to me?" I demand. "What's _my_ problem? Jesus Christ, James, what's _your_ problem? You're her boss! Do you realize that? Do you realize what kind of fucking power play you're working here?"

He starts to laugh, the sound bitter. "Oh, so that actually matters now?" He spits, pushing past me to pick a white t-shirt up off the floor. He tugs it on, prowling around like he wasn't just literally caught with his pants down.

"What the hell do you mean? Of course -"

"So the rules actually mean something, then? We're not all here just … fucking whoever we feel like?" James puts on a curious, edging on innocent expression.

My voice betrays me. All I can do is stand there.

"Because - as far as anyone here has seen - that's exactly what we're doing. Or, what you're doing, at least," James says, pointing a finger in my direction. It wouldn't be so intimidating if he wasn't stalking towards me. "Tell me you didn't fuck him."

"James," I say, shaking my head. I want so desperately to lie, but I can't. Instead, I just go quiet.

"That's what I thought," he says. "So don't come talking to me about _morals_."

"So that's it? I go after the guy I actually like and you find the closest thing that breathes to fill the void?"

James shrugs his shoulders, shoving a handful of clothing into his duffle bag before zipping it shut.

"Why?" I demand. "Was she some sort of sick, twisted revenge? Did you just - you just - you - you can't just use people," I angrily reply.

He laughs again, the awful sound silencing me. James closes that final bit of distance between us. "Sweetheart," he says, taking my chin in his hand. I clench my jaw tight and look away, trying to keep any tears locked behind a brave facade. "I learned from _you_. Her 'n I, well, that was just one night. But _you_ fucked me for two years straight," James says. Then he lets out a sneering laugh and says, "that son of a bitch deserves whatever hell you bring him."

I raise my hands but before I can shove him off, James is already walking back towards his duffle bag. He hoists the thing up on his shoulder, then goes for the backpack leaning by his bathroom door.

"Where are you going?" I nervously ask, no longer sure I have any ground to defend myself.

"Home," James easily replies.

"What? James, wait, no -" I follow him out the cabin door, almost tripping over my own boots in my desperate attempt to keep up. "Hold on, you can't go. Wait - just wait up." He keeps walking. "James, wait. This is your job. You can't just go." "Then I quit," he replies.

"You can't just leave. At least talk to Victoria. Come on. James - James, wait!" I reach and catch the arm of his shirt, but James tugs himself away.

I take a second to steady myself, noticing in my stillness that we've caught the attention of quite a few people - Kate, Angela, Seth, and, dear God, _Jasper_. Jasper is all but running towards us both, concern so clear on his face I can see it from here. I look back to James, who's now managed to slip another few feet away. I start tracking after him again, hoping to get to him before Jasper does.

Jasper catches up to us in a second. "Hey," he says, voice holding a kind of authoritative tone I've never heard before. "What the hell is going on here?" When James doesn't stop, Jasper quickens his pace and cuts in front of him, effectively blocking off James' exit strategy. "She's trying to talk to you, man," Jasper says, motioning a hand in my direction.

"Tell your bitch to leave me alone," James spits.

I don't even get in a full breath before Jasper's fist collides with James' jaw. He stumbles, and Jasper takes the opportunity to knock him down to the muddy ground.

"We don't talk 'bout women like that around here," Jasper growls, staring down at James with a level of intensity that would be utterly frightening, if I didn't know him better. Jasper takes a prowling step towards his victim and my breath catches.

_Maybe I don't know him better._

_I'm not breathing. I can't breathe._

James swears and scrambles to his feet, two fists raised and ready to fight.

Someone clears their throat behind me and I startle of my own skin and turn in fear, only to find Peter standing sturdy like a boulder behind me. "You'd better not," Peter says, his words directed at James. "Just you against Whit _might_ be a fair fight, but," Peter sucks his teeth and shakes his head. "I don't think you wanna get up in arms with all us here. We don't play fair."

I start shaking my head, looking back and forth between Jasper and Peter. "Okay, hold on. Everyone needs to calm down." I raise my hands in defense, hoping no one choses to throw a punch before I can get my thought out. "Jasper, just let him leave. Just let him leave. Please. I don't - no one start fighting, okay?" Then I look to James, whose fists are still mid-air. "Just leave," I say to him. "Go home." It's a far better solution than enduring more bloodshed.

James collects his bags off the ground and straightens himself out, all under Jasper's watchful eye. They keep their eyes locked on each other, like two rabidly wild dogs ready to attack. Neither of them so much as breathes until James turns his body towards me. Then Jasper goes rigid, nostrils flaring with each angry intake of air. I watch him over James' shoulder, trying to silently convey that _everything is alright, _that_ I can handle myself. _He doesn't calm.

When James lands in front of me, I keep my head held high.

"I hope it's worth it," he says, licking his lips and teeth clean of blood. My skin crawls at the sight. "Hope he's a good enough fuck to justify ruining all your hard work."

"Just go," I say, absolutely defeated.

James stalks off, but the chaos he's stirred up since yesterday remains.

No one relaxes until he's out of sight.

Jasper gets me settled on his back porch with a cup of coffee. I don't know how long we sit there staring at the horizon, me trying desperately not to cry, Jasper icing his knuckles, but I'm grateful for his company nonetheless. He keeps his uninjured hand on my back, like he's trying anchoring me down to this world.

"What am I going to do?" I ask. My voice is so weak it sounds pathetic, even to my own ears.

"Maybe we can find someone nearby," Jasper answers. "There's got to be local photographers who know enough to help you out."

I look into my cup of coffee. "I've already stretched this budget as far as it can go, Jasper, I don't have another few thousand dollars to hire someone last minute."

He sighs, his thumb running circles on my back. "Well there's no harm in looking. Maybe I know someone who knows someone who's willing to -"

"It's over, Jasper," I say. "It's done. The dream is dead."

"Don't say that," Jasper replies, chuckling just slightly. "The dream is far from dead. This is just one setback."

"No," I reply, embracing the finality of it all. "It's dead. Six feet under. Kaput. Absolutely lifeless."

Jasper sighs out another breath and leans in to press a kiss to the top of my head. "Drink your coffee," he whispers, trying desperately to settle me down.

I'm too distraught to do anything but what I'm told.

We stay huddled together like that until Angela approaches, still dressed in the outfit she'd been assigned for our shoot today. Just the sight of her makes me want to weep. Jasper straightens up and then so do I, setting my half-empty cup down beside me.

"Hey," she quietly says, showing off her best sympathetic smile.

Before Angela can finish her thought, I say, "please don't tell Bella. She's just going to tell Esme and then -"

Angela laughs nervously. "No, no, it's not that. I uh, I'm not — I uh — I didn't want to like, intrude or anything, but I - I kind of had uh - I kind of had an idea. I thought maybe -" she laughs again, "I thought maybe I could take pictures for you. _If you want_."

I tilt my head, eyeing Angela curiously.

"I - I took a lot of photography classes back in high school. I mean, I was on the yearbook committee senior year, I worked for the school paper - I still have to take photos for The Local and the journal at NYU. I know what I'm doing. At least enough to keep us on schedule for today."

That's when I remember: Angela isn't here to cultivate a career in the fashion industry. _No_. Far from that - she's here to make a few hundred bucks - to help pay for her next semester in college. For Angela, this is just a day job. Her true passion is journalism - photojournalism, if I remember correctly. It's far from the life of a high-fashion photographer, but I nod my head along, growing more certain of Angela's plan with every word that leaves her mouth. After all - it's the only reasonable plan I've got. It's going to have to work.

"I mean, if you want. I don't want to uh -"

"Angela Weber, I could kiss you right now," I proudly say.

She turns bright red.

I'm back in work-mode before the woman gets a chance to reply. "Go get changed out of that and meet me in front of James' cabin in ten minutes," I instruct. Angela grins and nods her head, turning to go find something more comfortable to work in. "Oh, wait - wait!" Angela halts, turning to face me again. "Give your dress to uh - give it to Tanya, it should probably fit her. Tell her that we'll shoot the black sheer tomorrow."

She hesitates there for a moment and I watch her, waiting for whatever brilliance might come next. When she fails to say what she's thinking, I promit, "what is it?"

"You wanted to do Tanya and Kate both in the blue tomorrow."

While I fall towards panic, Angela comes up with an alternative solution.

"Tanya is only a few inches taller than you," she tells me, "maybe one size bigger. You could wear it."

It takes all my restraint not to break into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"I'm serious!" Angela says. "The last few days you've mostly just helped James with the equipment behind the camera and that's not so hard. I can handle that, no problem. We can make it work. We could -"

"I don't know, Ang, I just -"

"You'd look good in black," Jasper mumbles quietly beside me.

"But I can't wear my own collection. That'd look -"

"Powerful?" Angela shoots back, effectively putting a smile on my face. "Come on, Al. _Come on! _We can make this work. Don't let one idiot guy ruin your day."

"She's right," Jasper says. "And I can help with the equipment, if you need. I'm used to lugging shit all over this place. Whatever it is that needs to be done, I'm sure I can help y'all out."

"See?" Angela prompts.

I glance at my sweet, generous Jasper, and then back towards Angela. "It's going to be too big on me. I'm going to have to alter it first."

"Maybe it'll look good. Oversized. Come on! Alice, come on! You force me into hair and makeup on the daily. It's your turn," she tries.

"Alright!" I surrender, realizing I've got no power over the course of my day. "_Alright_. I'll do it."


	13. Exposure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the notes at the end for a lil' giveaway!!!!

** _CHAPTER THIRTEEN_ **

* * *

_Your arms are lovely,  
_ _Yellow and rose.  
_ _Your back's a meadow,  
_ _Covered in snow.  
_ _Your thighs are thistles,  
_ _And hot house grapes._

_You breathe a sweet breath,  
_ _And have me wait._

_( Violet Hour, Sea Wolf )_

* * *

THURSDAY  
**JASPER**

_Holy fucking shit._

I thought Alice couldn't look more beautiful than she did wearing that silk nightgown last night. Then I thought she couldn't look more beautiful than she did naked, splayed out on my bed, lips parted in pleasure. Really, that still comes in first. But_ this_ \- _this_ has to be a close second.

Alice described the dress she'd end up wearing as sheer. I know what sheer means. _At least I thought I did_. But whatever this thing is - it's a far cry from just sheer. The thing has straps to it, the black outline of a neckline and a hem, but everything in between is nonexistent - a thin, barely there veil of fabric covering her from knee to chest. The fabric, if I can even call it that, is decorated with silver stars, but there's not nearly enough of them to cover the black underwear she's got underneath, or the rest of her skin, left totally uncovered for everyone to see. For _me _to see. The best part are the mud-coated cowboy boots she's been wearing non-stop since Tuesday morning.

I clear my throat, alerting the woman of my presence, and then I breathe out the first thought to come to mind. "My good lord, you look absolutely divine."

Alice catches my reflection in the mirror and turns on her heel, her sparkling viel of a dress spinning around with her. "Jasper," she says, face barely twitching in recognition, "_thank you_."

Alice tucks a strand of wavy hair behind her ear and looks down at her dress, at the high heeled shoes clutched in her hand She never looks up. "I guess you've never seen me all dolled up like this, huh? This is my, uh, _baseline _back in New York."

I think she's joking, but maybe she's not. I can't tell. Her voice doesn't sound like her voice. I've lost Alice again, to some sort of facade.

"Well I think you'd look beautiful in a paper bag."

She smiles - _kinda,_ _maybe, almost - _but doesn't say a word.

"Everyone is, uh, ready downstairs. We're just waitin' on you," I finally explain.

Alice's eyes flick from her shoes to my left hand, still bruised where it collided with that photographer's jaw. "Oh. Thanks," she says again, just as lamely.

"You alright?" I ask, cautiously walking into Rosalie's room. She looks back at my face and musters up a smile - the same timid, unsure thing she greeted me with last Sunday. "Of course," Alice answers, "I'm just a little overwhelmed. It's been a crazy morning." "It'd be understandable if you were upset, you know. It's been a _weird _mornin'. We could talk about it."

Alice breathes out a single huff of emotionless laughter. Her face - stoic, tight-lipped - stays locked in place all while she floats over to the bed and sets her shoes in the bag open there. "We don't have to do this, Jasper. Any of this. Besides - you don't have to check up on me, or defend me, or do _anything_ for me, really. I'm more than capable of handling myself."

"Oh, I'm more than certain that you can handle yourself," I quickly agree. "I don't think anyone doubts that. You could've had James flat on his ass and beggin' for mercy if I didn't get there first."

"Then why did you -"

"I don't just stand there when I hear another man talkin' the way he was - sayin' what he was sayin'. It's wrong. I don't care who's talkin', I don't care who they're talkin' about, I just won't hear it. Especially not on my own property. My parents raised me right, you know, not to speak about a lady like that. I know I shouldn'ta reacted how I did, but that man got what was comin' for him."

Alice stops her busywork, turning to me with her done-up face locked in a frown. She stands there long enough to replay my entire speech in her head, maybe twice.

"And I - I want to do this part, the bein' here for you part. _While I can_."

"No, you don't," Alice mutters, a quick turn of her head shaking her curls out of place. She takes one hesitant step towards me, so I do the same.

"Yes, I do," I tell her, letting a smile stretch across my face.

"This isn't a relationship," Alice reminds me firmly. "I don't expect _anything_ -"

"Then you're goin' to be pleasantly surprised."

She raises an eyebrow. The corners of her mouth twitch up for a split second. "Don't you have a family legacy to uphold or something? What happened to that?" Alice prods. "You spend a lot of time worrying about me for someone on the brink of collapse."

"_Ouch_," I say with a chuckle. "You tryin' to hurt my feelings or just get rid of me?"

"Both," she jokes. That tough exterior cracks, enough for me to see _Alice_ through it all, and finally, she smiles. Everything else about her softens.

I reach out, curling my hands into that barely-there fabric. It scratches against my palms, just irritating enough to remind me how badly I want the thing off of her. My eyes wander down her body, enjoying the pale lines of her very visible legs.

"Seriously," Alice continues, her voice forcing my gaze back to her painted mouth. "You might just be the most generous man I've ever met."

"Well, I'm still tryin' to impress you," I shoot back, staill half-distracted. Now I'm looking at her eyes, at the impossibly black lashes surrounding them.

"Oh, so this is all a big act then?" She playfully asks, blinking up at me.

I nod my head, my smile growing into an outright grin. "Sure is," I answer. "Once I get you right where I want you, this whole sweet, Southern exterior melts away."

"And you didn't get me right where you wanted me last night?" She questions, all serious.

"Not quite." I tighten my grip around Alice's waist.

Alice's teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Where do you want me, then?"

_On that bed, right there. Or the dresser. Or the desk. Any hard surface will do. _"That's a dangerous question, Ms. Cullen. Especially when you're standin' here lookin' like that."

She sighs in reply, stretching up on the balls of her feet to kiss above the pocket of my shirt. It's just about as high as she can reach without any help. "Guess you'll have to tell me later, then," Alice allows, speaking into the fabric of my shirt. She turns her head up, looking at me with a red-lipped smile. I don't know what's better: how the sun hits the blue in her eyes in that moment, or how it shines off her impossibly sparkly cheeks.

_I wish we had more time._

I tuck a wave of soft, inky black hair behind Alice's ear and let my fingers trail down along the line of her jaw. As we stand there stuck in silence, Alice's playful demeanour falters. She lets her guard down just long enough to remind me of our chaotic morning. I let out a heavy breath. "You goin' to tell me what happened between you 'n James?" I ask, dropping all pretense of humour. "I know he upset you more than you're lettin' on. I can tell."

Alice laughs incredulously and turns to fix her gaze on the bag of shoes and god-knows-what she's left on the bed. "That's not important," she mutters, looking back to me.

"Alice -"

"That's not important _right now_," she clarifies. "_Right now_ I've got to work. I don't have time to think about anything other than getting through the day."

I drop it - for now - and move on to more pressing matters. "Are you at least gonna let me help you today?" I gently ask, smiling at her again.

"Since you insist," Alice breathes out, arms circling around my waist. She puts on a smile and says, "guess I'll take every minute you're willing to give."

"Every minute between now and Sunday," I say, effectively reminding myself of the inevitably-painful-and-all-together-doomed understanding between Alice and I.

I hate myself for saying it. Really, truly hate myself. Because, for the thousandth time since waking, I convinced myself that Alice and I weren't on a collision course. That we weren't a catastrophe waiting to happen. I finally had the _tick, tick, tick_ of our dwindling time silenced altogether. I had my guard down. _That can't happen_.

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow, but it's the one I need to get through the next few days unscathed. I can't let myself feel for this woman - not anything past understanding, appreciation, _lust_. Anything deeper will only ensure pain for us _both_.

So I remind myself, again and again: _Sunday. Sunday. Sunday. She's leaving you on Sunday._

Alice doesn't like it either. "Yes," she agrees, voice tight. She pats a hand against my chest and I let her go, standing in wait as she goes to collect what we'll need for the day. Alice returns to me with that bag hoisted up on her shoulder, and a meek smile on her face. "Between now and Sunday," she finally agrees.

I lean down to kiss her, but before my mouth reaches hers, she stops me by asking, "can you promise me one thing? Before we go back out there?" Her dainty little hand reaches out and curls around mine - the one still swollen in the places it collided with James' jaw. My heart does something unrecognizable when Alice touches me. It flips or twists or constricts - something I want to happen again.

"What is it?" I ask, absolutely helpless.

"No more fighting. I don't need _anyone_ getting hurt on my accord."

"Of course not," I insist, but truthfully I'd make the same choice again if faced with the opportunity - with _any_ man, woman, or animal that so much as _looked wrong_ at the woman before me.

My answer puts a smile back on Alice's face. "Good," she says, lacing her fingers between mine, "then I guess I'm ready to go."

I lean down and kiss her cheek.

The mid-afternoon sun works wonders on the delicately stitched stars decorating Alice's dress. She wanders out into the world and illuminates the space around her, like silvery light is sewn into her very being. I follow in Alice's lead, one step behind, and watch her walk all the way down to the cabins. All my life I've been the leader, the kid in front, the one making the rules. I've never met a person I couldn't disarm with a little charm and a smile. Alice is different. Alice is - I don't know, exactly. She's got some kind of control over me - maybe over everyone - this unavoidable, invisible pull. The moon to our tides. Or mine, at least. So I stay behind. I follow her. _Happily._

"Where are we headed today?" She asks me, the question putting a smile on my face.

"Somewhere," I vaguely answer.

Alice doesn't like that. She tries again. "Somewhere … _what?_ Somewhere in a field? By the river? Out with the cows?"

_"Something like that."_

She huffs, arms crossing over her chest. I add one more to the list of facts I know about Alice: _she doesn't like surprises. _I, for a matter of fact, _love_ surprises. I don't mind that sickeningly sweet pout on her face either.

I throw my arm around Alice's shoulders and laugh, refusing to bend against her show of disapproval. "Trust me, darlin', " I say, pulling her into my side, "if anyone knows the ins and outs of this place it's me. You're in good hands."

"I _guess_," Alice agrees, walking like that with me for a moment. Then she comes out in front of me, fierce eyes locked on my face, and stops us both only ten feet from our destination. "But you've never done a shoot before. There are specific things I'm looking for, you know."

"Oh, I _know_," I reply in a low voice. We both know I'm not talking about photography. Her nervous face cracks into a smile and I reach out and tuck a short little curl behind her ear. "I know all about the things you want," I continue needlessly, teasingly.

"_Okay,_" Alice says, flushing such a deep shade of red I think she may never fade back to normal. "Don't get too cocky, Mr. One-Hit-Wonder."

I take mock offense. "What? _One hit wonder_? I am not a one-and-done kind of man. By my count - and I was always pretty good with numbers - it was more like two, or three, if you count - "

"Jasper! We're _working_," Alice demands, urging me to stop with a stern glance.

I deftly ignore the downpour of embarrassment dripping off Alice and throw her a chaste smile. "You're the one who started it," I tease.

"Uh, no," she argues, "I'm pretty sure you -"

I want to remind Alice that _she was the one who wandered into my office half dressed last night_, but it seems our moment has been cut short. I clear my throat and stand a little taller, alerting to Alice that we're no longer alone. Alice knowingly snaps her mouth shut, just before one of her done-up models swings an arm around her neck.

I watch as any and all ease rubs right off Alice's face.

"Allie girl," the woman says, in a sweet, sing-song voice, "are we going to stand here flirting all day or is this fine cowboy of yours going to take us where we need to go?"

I smile bright at the blonde and tilt my hat in her direction. "My apologies, ma'am."

The blonde likes that.

Alice wraps an arm around her waist, forcing herself to laugh at the woman's expression. "We're all ready to go, Tanya. Wherever it is we're going." Alice turns her eyes to me, brows raised in question.

"Still not tellin'," I answer. "You'll like it. I promise." What's more important - a fact I don't want to worry Alice with - is that it might be the only dry spot on the ranch.

"That's good enough for me," the woman - Tanya - says.

"Well, if it's good enough for _you_," Alice sarcastically agrees.

Tanya leaves and I turn my attention back to Alice. "Allie girl?" I ask, a single brow raised in question.

"_Don't_," she insists in a huff.

I let out a laugh just as Alice pushes past me, headed towards the rest of the girls.

Alice takes control of her flock better than any wrangler I've ever seen. They gather when she calls, dressed like a flock of peacocks or flamingos or whatever, and wait for Alice's word in a seemingly practiced crescent around her. The woman barely even has to raise her voice and her models obey, within a second flat. It's impressive. Better than I've ever been able to handle my men. I take my place behind them and watch as Alice inspects them all, double checking with each and every woman to see they're ready for the day. It's almost funny, how small she is compared to the rest of them, especially once they're right side by side. The only one who's even _near_ Alice's size is Tanya.

I lead them down past my house, towards my sturdy black truck. Alice keeps her eyes on me, burning silent questions into the side of my face. She doesn't need to speak for me to hear her asking: _where are we going?_

"Alright, everyone get on in the back," I instruct.

Alice slows to a stop, the rest of the girls stopping alongside her."Of the truck?" Alice asks me, "you want us to get in the -?"

I drop my hand onto the side of the truck bed. "Fastest way to get you all there. Or are you plannin' on hikin' through the brush in all the finery of yours?"

Alice glances towards Angela, who shrugs her shoulders in return. While they mutter back and forth about the safety of it all, I open the hatch on the tailgate and step aside, waiting to see what they might decide.

Before either can come to a decision, another woman - one of the blondes - shoves forward. "Come on, we're already wasting light. Just get in the freakin' truck."

Alice keeps frowning, but I flash her a smile. "Y'all won't get dirty, I promise. Yesterday Quil lost a bet 'n got stuck with wash duty. Should be perfectly clean in there."

That convinces her. "_Alright_," she begrudgingly says, waving the girls forward. "Go on, then. Everyone get in the truck. But dear God, Whitlock," Alice huffs out, turning to stare me down, "_you better_ _drive slow_. I don't want anyone showing up with flies in their teeth … or _falling to their death_," Alice adds, rather overdramatically.

I shoot her a smirk. "Then I'd suggest they hold on tight."

She seems to enjoy my humour just about as much as I'd enjoy a bat to the shin.

"_I'll drive slow_," I say in surrender.

All the models and Angela - Alice's new photographer and my new favourite of the bunch - pile into the back of my truck with the equipment, while Alice takes the seat up front. I slide in beside her and watch in wait for the truckload of curls and makeup in back to settle before starting up the engine.

"Everyone hold on," I say over my shoulder, out the window in the back of the truck's cab.

The drive to the furthest edges of the Whitlock property is a handsome one. I take the meandering dirt road that winds west, through field after field, passing by herds of our Jersey cows, until we eventually meet up with the river that curves across the ranch. I drive opposite the current, taking the truck up towards the highest point in the property. Every so often I find myself distracted by the very excited group in the truck bed, who have proven themselves incapable of listening to the one and only rule I've given them. They wiggle around and lean out over the edge nonstop, acting more like a rowdy bunch of teens than anything else. I don't even mind. It makes Alice smile and laugh and act like the weight on her shoulders isn't so heavy.

When we finally roll to a stop, about half a mile from the westernmost border of the property, the flow of excited voices chirping around me has ebbed substantially. Alice, for one, is silent - maybe _stunned_ \- beside me.

We sit quiet like that for a second, until Alice finally talks. "There weren't pictures of this online," she breathes out, blinking in shock at the view before us. "No," I answer, explaining, "I wouldn't want guests wanderin' out this far alone. But the good news is that you're lucky enough to have _me_ with you today. The even _better_ news is that Embry saw the sheep come 'round here just twenty minutes ago. Stayed for awhile, too. Means it's dry enough to tread through," I say, turning off the rattling engine.

Alice stares at me blankly. "I'm sorry," she says, "you have _sheep_?"

I grin. "Most efficient lawn mowers I ever had."

"I thought you only had cattle."

"We only_ sell _cattle," I correct, "but we've been home to all kinds of livestock. Back when I was real young, we had goats. Angora goats, I think. 'N for a few years, my dad ventured into Buffalo, too. That was wild," I say with a grin. "Felt like real old school cowboys." I work my way out of my seatbelt, and keep babbling on to fill the quiet between us. "Now - I checked when y'all were gettin' ready, and it seems to me this spot is still pretty _together_ after the rain last night. I remembered you wanted some pictures in that southern meadow, the one with all those wildflowers, 'n it didn't work the first time, so -"

Alice floats away as I'm talking, moving out of the truck and out towards the fantastic, rolling landscape we've woven ourselves into. Bluebonnets stretch as far as the eye can see, hugging along the hills that swoop back down towards the river, way below.

I find my way back to Alice's side, taking in the birdseye view of the ranch spread out below us.

Deep yellow sun lights everything around us ablaze, from the rust coloured dirt to the pink of Alice's lipsticked grin. Her amazement is infectious. I've lived on this land every day of my life, let it become background noise - static - but looking out at the whirlwind of colour expanding towards the horizon, seeing it all through Alice's eyes, I'm overcome with admiration.

"Jasper, this is incredible," Alice mutters.

"It is, isn't it?" I actually feel lucky.

"This is perfect. Holy crap, this is perfect." I hear Angela repeat in the background, her voice growing closer and closer to us. Once she's right up beside us, Angela says, "you've been holding out on us, Whitlock."

Alice turns her head, eyeing me just a moment too long. "You certainly have," she breathes.

I can feel Alice watching me. I smile, but keep my eyes firmly on Angela as she wanders past us to explore her new workspace.

"Jasper?"

I feel something nudge my hand. I glance down to find Alice's hand right there beside it, her knuckles only a hair's width away from my own. I stretch out my fingers, letting them tangle between hers just long enough to acknowledge her, to say,_ I'm still here._ "This good enough for you?" I ask, working hard to keep up with a professional pretense.

"Better than I ever expected," she says, fingers curling around mine before I can escape._ "Thank you."_

My heart does that thing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Just to start off - yeah, I know, I'm flat out just picking music off the twilight soundtracks now. This is the one exception because this song 1) SLAPS, and 2) fits this chapter pretty darn well.
> 
> I sincerely apologizing for disappearing for so long there! I would up stuck in bed with strep throat for awhile, which totally threw me off schedule. I was hoping to get this out last week, and then earlier THIS week, but that didn't happen. Either way, it's finished now, and part two of this chapter shall arrive on schedule next Tuesday (unless, I don't know, my life decides to be wild again). As always, you can check out my tumblr - www . twiwrite . tumblr . com for any and all update information. If you don't see a chapter up come Tuesday, I guarantee there will be more information there!
> 
> FUN INFORMATION BELOW!
> 
> While I was out sick, I hit a follower milestone on Tumblr! To celebrate, I'm doing a little mini giveaway, which I'll be posting one on my main tumblr ( empathetic - cowboy ) as well!
> 
> So here it is!
> 
> To celebrate reaching 500 ( we're way past that now holy crap ) followers, I'm handing out ( 4 ) drables to my followers & readers!
> 
> If you want a drabble , simply comment below with the pairing you'd like me to write about, and a specific genre! (ie: edward / bella - romance , seth / leah - wacky sibling adventure , esme / carlisle - first meeting, etc), and your username will be added to a list! My final four ( 2 from here / a03, 2 from my tumblr followers ) will be picked & random and will receive a 4000-8000 word one-shot based off the twilight pairing (romantic, platonic, cannon, or otherwise) of their choice!
> 
> If you want a second shot to entering, check out my main tumblr - emapthetic-cowboy - later today!
> 
> I will be accepting names for ONE WEEK, until next TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22ND & winners will be messaged directly THE NEXT DAY via their inbox.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading & sticking with me! I appreciate your support more than you know~!


	14. Too Close, Too Wonderful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OH - WHAT'S THIS? A NEW CHAPTER ? SHE ACTUALLY UPDATED ? IS IT TRUE? CAN IT BE REAL ? SHE LIVES?
> 
> it's a fucking christmas miracle.
> 
> also - happy first day on earth to a new baby rathbone. welcome to #teamcapricorn little dude

** _CHAPTER FOURTEEN_ **

* * *

_You're my golden hour_  
_The colour of my sky_

_You've set my world on fire_  
_And I know, I know,_  
_Everything's gonna be alright._

_( Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves )_

* * *

THURSDAY  
**ALICE**

I find myself alone for the first time today, finally with the room to read through the pile of messages I'd been ignoring. Each and every one - all nine - from Bella. It's my own fault - I had initiated the conversation, after all - but catching up with reality is far from relaxing. I shift again and again on Rosalie's made bed, the weight of Bella's words heavy, but not enough to sink me down into the mattress.

The entire conversation is one sided, save for the bomb I dropped last night.

_So, I kissed a cowboy_, I wrote. 7:55 pm. I didn't get a reply for another few hours - then Bella's soliloquy began.

10:45 PM, last night:

_What? That's fucking wild. Tell me everything._

Right around midnight, I got a few more.

_I guess you're off with Butch Cassidy or whatever, but …  
You remember what you told me right before you left?_

Then:

_You said it felt like everything was about to change.  
Maybe you were right. Maybe this is it._

Ten minutes later, one after the other.

_Alice, it's okay if it is.  
_ _Jump in with both feet. Always.  
_ _That's what you told Edward to do._  
_That's what you told me to do.  
_ _It's the best advice we've ever gotten._

Finally, a message from early this morning:

_Dude, if I don't hear from you soon I'm going to tell Edward you've been taken captive by confederates._

I don't know how to answer her. It's been almost a full twenty-four hours, and I don't know what to say.

Maybe I _was_ right. Things feel different. I feel different, being here. More _me_. And less.

I close my eyes, but when I do I no longer darkness. I don't flash through my childhood, or my best days on the job. I don't see my friends, or the faces of my family. Not anymore. Since yesterday - since I first saw him, really - my eyes close and all I see is Jasper, hovering over me, unblinking. His mouth is parted in awe, or ecstasy, or both. His cheeks are flushed. He's beautiful. It feels right, seeing Jasper there when I close my eyes. Like it's where he's supposed to be.

I've never experienced need like this before. _That's what scares me._

Curiosity is one thing.

Deep admiration is manageable.

This? This all consuming, _I-want-you-every-minute-of-the-day_ need? It's overwhelming. It's addictive. It's delicious, and wonderful, and absolutely fucking terrifying.

Unsure what else to do with myself, and desperate to think of _anything_ else, I click on Bella's name and watch as my phone begins to dial her number. I hold the phone to my ear, letting the too-loud dial tone shake my skull.

_Hey, you've reached Bella Swan -_

I collapse back onto my - _Rosalie's_ \- pillows. _\- you know what to do._

I end the call and try again, desperate for something._ Anything. "_Come on, Bella," I mutter against the dial tone. "Take your eyes off my brother for one -"

_Hey, you've reached Bella Swan -_

_Ugh!_

This time I leave a message. "Hey," I manage. After a few breaths, I say, "I'm alive. Consider this soldier safe - free will in tact. I've just been running around working and spending time with… _Butch Cassidy_ … so there's no need to call in the freakin' Union brigade or anything. I'm _okay_. Things are good. _I think_. Yeah - no, they're good. I'm good."

I go quiet. I desperately want to tell her about the James fiasco, but once Bella knows something, it's only hours (if not minutes) before Edward knows, too. Once he knows, so will Carlisle and Esme. Then I'll end up with a billion calls from my worrywart parents. It's not worth mentioning - especially not in this half-assed, minute-long voicemail.

_Do I say something about Jasper? _Fuck, I want to talk about _him_ more than anything else. I come up with the same meager list of excuses why I shouldn't, and settle on something much more … _vague_.

Before my message gets cut off, I add: "I keep thinking about what you said last night - I guess I do kind of feel like a different person out here." _A person who sleeps with cowboys they barely know. _"I feel weird," I say, then rush to correct myself. "But it's a _good weird_ \- a really good weird. I just miss -"

_Beep._

Time's out.

I huff in frustration and end the call, throwing my phone back on the bed with a muffled _thunk_.

The frustration doesn't last long. Within seconds it's been outweighed by my need for a sounding board. I pick up the phone to try and call again, thinking that at the very least, I can finish my message.

Two rings in, I hear the telltale sound of something smacking the glass doors to my left. I end the call and jolt off the bed, phone forgotten in favour of investigation. Another direct hit rattles the doors, hinges and all. I pull back the curtain just in time to see a third thing - a small, quickly moving rock - smack the pane just above my head.

I tug the doors open and rush outside, hoping to God that I don't get whacked by a freaking projectile.

Only one step out onto the balcony, I spot tufts of blond, curly hair spilling out from underneath a cowboy hat. "Hey!" I shout, just desperate enough to stop Jasper from chucking something else in my direction.

He quickly hides his hand behind his back, standing at attention. He smiles at me, feigning a childlike innocence.

I dart further out onto the balcony. "_What are you doing!?_" I demand, half bent over the rail to look at him.

"Throwin' rocks," he casually calls back, pulling one arm forward to reveal his weapon of choice.

I scoff in disbelief. "You're going to break the door."

"The door looks fine to me."

I glance over my shoulder at the perfectly-in-tact-glass, then back down towards Jasper. "What do you want, Romeo?" I submit.

"_Attention_." I laugh. He keeps smiling.

"Okay," I say, playing along.

"_And? _What else?"

"That's about all."

"Then I'm going back inside -" I taunt, shifting like I'm about to turn around and leave.

Jasper quickly says: "actually, no! _Wait!_ I uh - I wanted to show you somethin'."

When I don't immediately indulge him, Jasper adds: "_that_, and I thought maybe you 'n me could use a little time away from all this."

_All this_, he says, motioning not only towards the group of cabins housing my models, but the mess hall sure to be packed with his hungry, tired ranch hands.

I look at Jasper, illuminated by the strange pink glow of tonight's sunset, and submit to my basal need to _escape_ \- the very same instinct Jasper's come to indulge.

I grip the rail of the balcony a little tighter, trying to quiet the fluttering in my stomach._ I should go back inside. I should call Bella. I should call my parents - I haven't done that since getting here. I should finish the alterations for tomorrow's shoot._

"Alright," I submit. "Wait there." Before he can say anything else - before he can even grin - I retreat back into the room.

I grab my boots off the floor and tug them on one by one, stopping only momentarily to check my still-done-up reflection in the mirror before heading towards the bedroom door. Something stops me before I do.

I grab my phone up off the bed, and type out a quick, direct message to Bella.

_I miss you guys like crazy. Call me later?_

A split second of deliberation has me leave my phone on the bed, too invested in finding Jasper to think on it much further. Before I've even rationalized the choice, I'm outside.

The evening sky has lost its swirls of cotton candy blues and pinks in favour of a more appropriate bruised purple. Night creeps over the treetops, inching closer and closer to us all, but when I spot Jasper, I feel as though the sun has found us again, burning brightly in him. It's golden hour anywhere we go.

"Hey," I say, pulling Jasper's attention away from the horse he's petting. "You've got impeccable aim, you know? I couldn't get a rock up on that balcony if I tried all night."

Jasper glances my way just for a second, but keeps his hands on the large, dark coloured animal beside him. "Played a lot of baseball as a kid," he casually states. "Used to chuck shit up there all the time to bug Rose, too." That puts a smile on his face.

I come to stand beside him, settling both of my hands on the wooden fence we've congregated by. After a pregnant pause, I finally ask: "_so?_"

"_So?_" Jasper echoes, confused by the question.

"What did you want to show me?"

"_Ah_." Jasper takes a full step back and lands his hand firmly on the neck of the horse beside us. "This is Alonso," he tells me.

"Alonso?" I ask, before chuckling at the name.

"_Alonso_," he says again, "belongs to Seth. Asked if I could borrow him for the night."

"Why would that be?" I ask Jasper, before cautiously moving forward to give the horse a pat on his long, black nose. What I really want to ask is: _is this a thing? Do you _always_ make a point to introduce passers-through to the local livestock, or is it just me?_

"Well, he's easiest to learn on."

Ah.

_Fuck._

_He's got me cornered._

"Oh, _no_. I'm not - no, I've had enough misadventure for one day." I immediately pull my hand back and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans, breaking any contact between the animal and myself. Just to reiterate my point, I give my head a good hard shake. _No_. Not happening. _No way in Hell. I am not - and will never - get on that horse._

One side of Jasper's mouth pulls up, fashioning a crooked sort of smile that hits me straight in the gut. "Oh, come on now," he pleads. "You're not gonna come all the way down to Texas - spend your whole week _surrounded_ by horses - and never actually get on one?"

"We didn't come here to ride horses," I say. "This isn't a vacation." Good excuse.

"Seth has taken the girls out twice now," Jasper reminds me.

I cross my arms and frown in his direction and go on ignoring his incredibly valid observation. "What about dinner?" I stubbornly ask.

"You gotta work for your supper tonight," he teases. _God, I hope he's teasing._

I laugh nervously. He laughs too - loud enough to convince me there won't _actually_ be work involved, but not loud enough to convince me up onto that horse.

Jasper starts walking off towards the gate. "C'mon, then. No excuses. We've only got a few more days - gotta spend 'em right."

"We can spend them right here, on solid ground," I yell out to him.

When that doesn't work, I try for anything that might get me out of this horseshit. "What about all the - the cougars and raccoons and whatever? It's getting pretty dark."

His laugh is marvelous, and boisterous enough to draw attention to us both. Jasper turns on his heel, brows furrowed so tight I'm sure he's _actually_ upset with me. "Oh, _now_ you're concerned?"

"I -"

"Just two nights ago you stormed off by yourself, goin' God knows where to find God knows what in the pitch dark. You didn't seem so scared then. There's no use tryin' to lie your way out of it now."

I gape at him.

"You really stepped in it now, Ms Cullen. _Get over here_."

After a few seconds hesitation, I agree. "Fine!" I huff. "Do I at least get to know where we're going this time?" Jasper smiles that same fucking crooked smile. "Not a chance."

** _~oOo~_ **

"Alright, you can get on up here," Jasper says, shoving a brick of hay until it rests beside the horse. "C'mon."

I wipe my sweaty hands off on my jeans and walk forward, forcing a smile for Jasper's enjoyment. I've never liked heights - never been too sure about animals, either - but I'll do this. For him. Jasper spent all day enveloping himself in my world, after all. It's the least I can do.

I can get on the horse.

Ten seconds, I tell myself. Just get up there for ten seconds, and that'll be enough. You can say you tried. _And you will live. It's fine. It's all fine._

I climb up onto the hay bail. It stays firm under the heels of my boots, barely giving way to my weight. Up here, I'm almost Jasper's height. I can see the top of his hat and the top of the _horse's_ head. The animal feels a little less intimidating once we're near the same size.

Jasper moves to position the horse right up beside me, the … _foot part_ … of the saddle dangling just below my knee.

"So you're gonna get your left foot in the stirrup there, right up to the heel."

I do as I'm told.

"Yep, alright, now lean all your weight into that foot - don't worry, the saddle'll hold ya - put your hands up here, one on the horn, right there," Jasper says. He takes my left hand and curls it around the thing sticking up at the front of the saddle, then puts my right at the back of it. "Now just pull yourself up and over."

"Just -?"

"Yep. Like you're takin' a big step over somethin'. Uh - climbin' out of a pool."

"Okay." It's incredibly awkward, but somehow I manage to hoist myself up and onto the horse. Jasper's strong hands work to keep me steady, one hovering ready at my side incase I tip at any given moment. Once I'm balanced up on the saddle, his hand falls to rest on my thigh. My eyes dart away from the animal to the spot where Jasper touches me, then up to meet his eyes again.

Jasper smiles, pats my leg, and moves away. The second that Jasper's warm, comforting touch leaves me, so does any and all faith that I can actually do this.

_Jesus fucking Christ_.

I suck in a deep, uneasy breath.

The horse chuffs. I think he's just as nervous as me.

I'm too tall up here. This isn't right. I wasn't built to be this far off the ground.

The horse moves to take a step forward.

"Woah," I breathe out, both hands grabbing tight onto the horn of the saddle. The second I make noise, Alonso slows to a stop, Jasper laughs and takes a generous step back. The horse jerks forward to follow him. I squeak, gripping both the reigns and the horn tighter in my hands. The leather refuses to give, rubbing uncomfortably against my skin, but it's the closest thing to security I've got. The horse makes a grumpy noise.

"You're okay!" Jasper promises, struggling not to laugh. "Ease off a bit." I stare at the obviously delirious fool beside me.

"Serious! You gotta relax," he encourages, coming forward to rest one hand on each side of Alonso's thick neck. He begins to pat the ever-shifting animal, eyes turned to him instead of me. "Horses are real intuitive - they feels everythin' you're feelin' up there. If you're afraid, he's afraid. If you're scared, so's he."

Jasper's hands move up to pull both of mine off the saddle's horn. He takes one in each of his own, holding them delicately at first. "How's this feel?" He asks me softly.

"Nice," I quietly - shakily - answer, nervous I might slip without holding on.

Jasper smiles a little, nods his head. His grip tightens then, like he's afraid to let me go. "And this?"

I pause, take a second to find the right words. "Like you're scared."

"Yeah."

Finally, Jasper's hands close tight around mine, so hard that all the breath clears out of my lungs. "And that?"

I answer without thinking too hard. "_Wrong_. Like you want to hurt me."

Jasper eases off, back to his initial grip. "See - you know what feels right and what doesn't. So does he. More than the rest of us. You have to tell him that everythin's gonna be okay." Jasper rubs his thumbs over my knuckles - one quick, easy swipe - and then replaces his hands with the reins. "And you have to believe it, or he certainly won't."

He walks me through the basics - how to hold the reins, how to make the horse start, stop and turn left or right - then hurries across the paddock to Ginger, who has been patiently waiting for me to get acquainted with my new ride. Jasper gets up onto his horse in one fell swoop, and makes it over to my side before I figure out how to get Alonso moving on my own.

"Don't be afraid to push your heels into his side. You're pretty teeny, so you might gotta dig in a little harder than you think."

I try again. Harder this time. The horse listens.

We keep practicing until Jasper determines that I'm ready to leave the confines of the paddock.

He rides Ginger over to the gate and leans down to open our path out into the wide open world. I can barely breathe, looking down at the ground from up here. One wrong move and my helmetless head could be right under one of those strong looking hooves. I could break my shoulder, or my arm, or my neck. At least in the paddock, we're a minute's walk away from Jasper's house. If I fall there, help is only a scream away. I have no idea where Jasper's taking me - out into the wilderness, I guess, the wilderness growing dark. There's no help out there. Great. Safe as can be. This guy must really, really have faith in my ability to stay up on this thing.

Thankfully, Jasper starts off slow. We lazily make way out into the fields, past the structured centre of the Whitlock ranch. With every turn in our conversation we move further and further away from civilization, and I _almost_ find myself relaxing into the saddle.

I could get the hang of this, given the time.

We ride west for awhile, chasing the ever dwindling light of the setting sun. On the meandering route we take, Jasper points out any and everything he can - the dilapidated treehouse still hanging on from his youth, the ring where his father taught him to ride, one grazing field, another, and another, and another, until we finally catch up with one of his roaming herds. I don't notice them at first, not until Jasper points out a group of pitch black, definite _things_ standing firmly in the distance, like a forest of rocks. I'm only half convinced they're actually real until one moves and another follows close behind.

My breath catches in my chest. My heart flips. Every piece of this property looks like its been pulled right from a photograph, like maybe what I'm seeing is an elaborate backdrop and nothing more. I must constantly remind myself: _this is really happening - all of this is real. I'm in Texas. I'm on a ranch, riding a horse, watching over the herd. Beside me is a genuine, real life cowboy. A genuine, real life cowboy, whose made it his mission to be a part of my genuine, real life._

I look towards Jasper. He's already looking at me. _"What?" _I ask_. _"You like this place," he says, all matter of fact.

"I do," I reply, just the same.

He smiles proudly. We ride slow and steady up to and around the herd, as not to disturb the bundle of resting beasts. Once we're about a quarter mile past the herd, Jasper asks me a question I've been dreading. "You want to go faster?"

"What? No." I instantly, adamantly reply.

"You sure?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm -"

He speeds up anyways, taking off with Ginger so fast that I have no choice but to hurry if I want to avoid being left behind. I give Alonso a good knock to the side with my heel and lean forward just a smidge, and the horse responds immediately. I take off, the air whipping across my face a relief against the stifling summer night.

_I'm going to fall._

_I'm going to fall._

_I'm going to fall._

I keep thinking about it the whole time Alonso darts forward, but somehow I stick to the saddle. _Don't depend on beginner's luck_, I tell myself. I squeeze my thighs tighter in a desperate attempt to hold on. I grip the reins with all I've got. I lean back until I'm straight in the saddle, just like Jasper. I keep breathing. I don't fall. The whole time we ride, I don't fall.

We slow down when the terrain turns uneven, dotted with rocks and trees.

Jasper eases Ginger back to moving at a snail's pace, keeping her steady until we're riding side by side, just a few feet apart. "You know, you're not so bad at this," Jasper drawls, speaking just loud enough to drown out the buzz of cicadas.

The noise I make in response is halfway between a laugh and a snort. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?"

He chuckles. "If I didn't think you'd be any good, I wouldn't drag you out here in the pitch dark. Have a little faith in yourself, darlin'. So far I've seen you do everythin' you set your mind to."

… _Technically he's not wrong._

The rest of our ride is leisurely, almost relaxing. Alonso and I develop a sort of kinship in our shared survival, and I even manage to sneak a pat or two before Jasper suggests we stop for a break. I agree, working hard to hide any disappointment in my voice. _I kind of like it up here._

Jasper leads us all through a thicket of trees, one that clears only to make way for a kidney shaped pond - maybe a spring. The only way to make out water from ground is by the rippling lines of moonlight reflected in its surface, but I'm sure there's something there.

He dismounts Ginger in one fell swoop and walks her over to the water. The animal bends her long, graceful neck and begins to drink from a spot between two trees, her body bowed for almost a full minute before she straightens up again. Jasper pats Ginger's side, drops her reins over a branch near his left, and then turns to hurry back in my direction.

Back at my side, Jasper eases my right boot out of its stirrup, then comes over to the horse's left side. He reaches out for me with both hands. "Kick your right foot over," he says, "just the opposite of gettin' on."

I nod my head and do as I'm told. The second I've got both feet on the left my other boot slips from its holder and my body lurches - ass first - towards the ground. That terrible, stomach churning feeling of falling doesn't last long. _I don't fall_. Jasper's got me. His big hands are curled around my hips, and those perfect arms of his easily guide me back to Earth.

Down on the ground, Jasper's grip stays just as firm. I twist around to face him, spotting a bit of dirt on the underside of his chin. _Just the perfect amount of imperfection_. "Careful," he mutters, pulling me taught against himself. "I don't get my deposit back if I bring you home broken."

"Oh, ha-ha," I say, reaching up a hand to brush the dirt off his face. I have to stretch up onto my tippy-toes to get it, but Jasper keep still and ever patient with me. "I think we're far past the point of playing it safe."

The smile that splits his face in that moment is indescribably perfect. _Relieved. Excited. Humble. _Jasper. It's just Jasper. "Good," he says.

"Good," I say.

Looking up at Jasper now, last night feels a lot less like a very-thoroughly-concocted figment of my imagination. Less like a fever dream.

I haven't let myself fully acknowledge _us_ all working day long, but now, trapped by Jasper's tawny stare, I'm drowning in memories. I see him again - Jasper, hovering over me. My eyes aren't even closed this time, but I see him. More than that, too. Each and every one of my senses are activated. I can see his hands working their way down my body, long fingers only stopping to curl around my thighs, so real I'm not certain it's only memory. can smell the sweat on his skin, and taste the deeply sweet wetness of his mouth. The best - the very best - I can feel the way his hips fit against mine, when he's moving inside of me. I can feel my skin glowing electric. It's all right there, like we never left that perfect spot.

There it is again, that overwhelming need.

Followed close behind? Fear.

Jasper's grip tightens around me. His chest swells with a deep breath. _He must be thinking about the same thing. _I should be pleased - I should be thrilled to know he's captivated - but when Jasper leans down to kiss me, all I know is fear. Last night was good. Too good. _A fucking religious experience_. I want more, and more, and more, all while knowing that each taste is dragging me closer to a Jasper addiction.

_Jumping in with both feet is a lot harder than it looks._

I pull away in a desperate attempt to pace myself, both heels sinking back into the ground. Jasper looks just as disappointed as I feel, but I put on a coy smile and play like I'm nothing but hard to get. "If I gotta work for it, you gotta work for it," I tease. He laughs. I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I take one, then another step away from him. _I can't believe that worked._

Jasper eventually walks past me, leading Alonso over to where Ginger stands, and hooks his reins over the same low-hanging branch. I follow him to that same spot, and together we work our way along along the water's edge. His hand finds mine when the ground grows rugged with roots sprouting from the monstrous, ancient trees that have made this place home. They all look identical to me, but Jasper pays special attention to one old, crooked tree. Its roots curve way over the pond's edge and stretch down below the water. Its branches are bent over the water's shimmering surface in quite the same way. He stops rather decidedly underneath it, right where the tree's roots bend into the trunk. Jasper uncurls my hand from his. He takes off his hat, tosses it on the ground, and runs both his hands through his hair. One falls back to his side, but the other works to wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead.

I stand there unblinking, absolutely in awe of Jasper's every languid movement.

"It's hotter than a witch's tit out," he grumbles, pulling the slick material off his dewey chest. Jasper's words distract me from the strange fantasy of this place, back into his rugged reality.

"That's colourful," I tell him, huffing out a laugh.

He drops to the ground, heavy like a rock. Jasper makes himself comfortable in the grass, then motions for me to join him. "Sit with me a minute?"

I nod and follow his lead, dramatically plopping down.

_Not a good idea._ My back hurts. My thighs hurt. My _ass_ hurts.

While I try to find a comfortable spot for my aching body, Jasper tucks both hands behind his head and leans against the tree trunk, all to look up towards the star-speckled sky. I've seen wilderness at its best here on Whitlock farm, but this hidden oasis feels like nothing else I know - it's more like a place I would have concocted as a child, one filled with faeries and magic stardust and water home to a siren or two.

"This is -" I don't have a word great enough prepared. I shake my head, struggling for something right, when my mouth picks something for me. "_Incredible._" I don't just mean this one spot. I do - it's beautiful, of course - but I mean so much more than that. This whole evening - this whole week - could be summed up just the same. Every minute has been filled with enough goodness to outweigh my ample anxiety, time and time again. I'm happy here. Content. I feel a kind of security that I haven't felt in so long, maybe ever.

"Yeah, well," Jasper begins, without the intention to say much else. He huffs a laugh and gives a firm shake of his head. Finally: "_it's home_."

I hum in approval.

Jasper goes silent, so I follow suit. We stay there, just like that, breathing in the cool air that rises off the water. The impossibly hot night fades into the background. The sweat on the back of my neck dries. My muscles ease back to normal.

I uncross my legs and shift closer until my shoulder meets Jasper's side. My touch breaks his focus, and he turns turns to me wearing a pleased little smile. One of his arms swoops down to wrap around my shoulders and lean my head against him, close enough that each and every breath I take is dominated by his scent.

Time passes by so gently I almost forget to watch it go. I'm too taken by Jasper, the glowing water, and the sweet quiet we all share to rationalize much else. It keeps going and going and going and I'm happy to let it, until I realize _again_ that we're running out of it. Jasper must come to the same conclusion. He starts speaking right then, rather unceremoniously, his words low and serious and meant only for me. "This was my mom's favourite spot," he tells me. I lock my eyes on Jasper, encouraging him to speak further.

"Said it was the most peaceful corner of the ranch. I didn't really know what she was gettin' on about when I was young, but I always figured she was right. Everythin' here just - I don't know - it seems pretty fucking peaceful to me." Jasper sort of chuffs at himself, and then continues on. "When we were kids just practicin' how to ride, she'd take us up along the ridge for awhile like went just now, then we'd turn 'n go deeper 'n deeper into the woods until we'd find this place. W'd stop to let the horses drink, 'n just sit 'n talk, or eat, or I don't know - sometimes Rose 'n I would get right in the water to cool off on hot days like this."

"Did your mom ever join you?" I ask, indulging in his nostalgia.

"Sometimes she'd get her feet wet, but no. Not really. She was too put together for that kind of thing."

I nod in approval. I can see her - the brunette woman from all the photos hanging on Jasper's walls - so clearly now that she almost feels real. Her olive skin is dressed in clean white linen. She's perched on the sturdy end of a fallen tree, dangling over the river with her feet sunk into the tepid pond water. I can picture a little Jasper, and little Rosalie, too. Both sun-kissed, decorated with curls still white blonde in their youth, half dressed and splashing away just within their mother's reach.

Jasper tightens his arm around me. I notice his breathing stop, just for a second, then resume back to its normal, easy ebb and flow. "When she died, you know, this kinda became a place for me. I mean, not just _me_, but all of us. Me, Rose, my Dad - we'd all come out here - together, alone, whatever - and just sorta … try 'n find that peace, I guess. Always worked for me. Never feel better than I do sittin' right here."

I soften my posture against him. Just a little.

"I uh - I don't make a habit of draginin' people all the way up 'round here, but I thought maybe you could use a little peace and quiet after today," Jasper mutters.

"You were right," I tell him solidly.

He goes quiet. I feel a twinge of jealousy at Jasper's ability to speak so eloquently of his past. His memory is impeccable - and I assume it's only improved by the fact that he's never had to leave this place. Jasper can stroll through the past whenever he pleases. He can visit the spots where his life happened - where his mother sat with him, where he and his sister played - whenever he pleases. It must be nice. I try to express that, as basically as I can. "It's nice, you know, how open you are about your mom."

"Well, it's been a long time," Jasper explains. "It's a lot easier for me to talk about now."

_I wish I felt the same._

"- But it's easier to talk to some people than others."

"You feel like you can talk to me?" I quietly ask.

Jasper still doesn't look at me. His eyes keep aptly focused on the water flowing in front of us. "Yeah," he says, his mouth curling up at the side. "Are you surprised?"

"No," I quickly answer, "just glad to hear it."

He breathes out all the air held in his chest and turns to look me in the eye again. That lopsided smile of his knocks the air clean out of my lungs, too. We're both breathless.

Jasper watches me. He doesn't blink, doesn't inhale, doesn't move. The weight of his stare has me squirming in place, filled with more intention than any words he could speak. I can see it, in the ever-changing hues of his eyes. _Don't leave. Stay here. Be with me. _I can see in his weighted brow that simply _thinking_ those thoughts won't be enough. Sooner or later, Jasper is going to say something out loud. I can feel it drawing nearer, too. The words are coming soon. Sooner than soon. Maybe in seconds. When they come, I won't have an answer for him.

Jasper's lips part around a word, and terrified of what he might say, my body lurches into action. I jump up from my seated position, ignoring the ache in my muscles as I do. I come up with a plan - equally brilliant and ridiculous - and hurry to bring it to life.

"Well then," I say, words flowing without further instruction from my brain. "I wonder if it's still good for a cool off."

Jasper shifts to watch me stroll off. He blinks up at me, head tilted in absolute confusion.

_I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this!_

I kick off my muddy boots one by one, letting my white socks hit the dirt one after the other.

Jasper just stares at me, one brow arched in question.

Once I've straightened back up, I undo the button of my jeans.

He breathes out a laugh. My name follows, breaking his silence. I can tell by Jasper's tone of voice_ \- he thinks I'm crazy._

"Come on!" I playfully insist, shimmying my jeans down over my hips. They hit the ground and I struggle to kick them off to one side, hands busy maneuvering my shirt over my head.

"Alice!" Jasper exclaims, eyes widening in surprise. He fumbles up onto his feet, hands now coated in the same reddish dirt we were sitting on. "What are - I - what are you doing?" He glances back towards the barn - towards civilization - still chugging along only a mile away.

I smile as sweetly as I can. "_Going swimming_," I tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ CHAPTER 15 COMING SOON ~
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are deeply appreciated <3


	15. Wild at Heart

_ **CHAPTER FIFTEEN   
  
** _

* * *

_  
You’re the flame, _ _  
_ _ The fire, _ _  
_ _ But most of all -- _ _  
_ _ You’re the spark.  
  
_ _( The Spark , William Prince ) _  
  


* * *

_ THURSDAY NIGHT**  
** _ **JASPER  
  
**

_  
Maybe I should stop her, but I don’t. _

She’s a strange thing -- on the outside, Alice is put together. 

Done up almost too good.

Looking from a distance, she is practiced. She is graceful. She is finished, and clean, and well-behaved. Every bit of her seems to be made of impenetrable, indestructible marble. But then I get up close, and none of that is true. What churns under the surface of her skin is hot, and furious, and aching for attention. Looking close, I see that her marble surface is melting thinner and thinner, waxing into the chaos underneath. 

She is far from perfect. 

Alice is a wild thing, trapped in a cage of her own design. It’s beautiful to see her up close, and decorated and trained, but I know that just like any other creature, she deserves to be imperfect and free.  
  
Someone’s got to let her loose. And selfishly, I want to be the one to do it. 

_ So I don’t stop her. _

I let Alice be wild, and make mistakes, and strip down to her underwear whenever she so fucking pleases. I give Alice the space to be whatever version of herself she’s been avoiding, or hiding, or craving to be, and each and every moment of my one-woman-experiment has lead to further success -- has led to this.   
  
It’s the most genius thing I’ve ever done. 

Because Alice -- totally unhinged, wandering half-naked through the woods -- is more fucking wonderful than anything I’ve been gifted in my life. I’d thank God, if he had anything to do with it. 

“Is it safe?” Alice asks me, in that same voice that tugged me to bed last night. She walks backwards effortlessly, one foot directly behind the other, like a trained dancer.  
  
Something jumps in my chest. 

“Guess we’re gonna have to jump in and find out,” I tease, trying hard not to be unhinged by the her languid movements, or her near-nakedness.  
  
I know for a fact the spring is safe. The deepest it gets is eight feet. Ten, maybe. It’s rocky under the surface, and slippery as all hell, but so long as she doesn’t jump headfirst -- 

_ So long as someone’s in there to keep her safe -- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Oh. _  
  
I make quick work of the buttons on my shirt.

Alice laughs in utter delight and turns to face the hard edge of earth only a few inches in front of her. She leans out over the water, one hand clutching a nearby tree, and she slips one foot into the water. “Oh,” Alice says, laughing again, “it’s so _ hot _ .”  
  
_ Is she doing that on purpose? _  
  
Her milky skin glows purple against the moonlit sky, like white fabric under ultraviolet light. It stops and starts against the hard black lines of her underwear, soft and tempting and close enough to touch, if I wanted to. 

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to let on to how worked up she’s got me in such a short span of time. 

Alice tries to ease her way in from the spot she’s at, but I know for a fact that it’s deceptively deep just below her.  
  
I kick my boots off my feet, then my jeans and socks, and rush across the grass to grab Alice before she gets the shock of her life. “Hold on,” I say, laughing when she gasps in surprise. I plant a kiss to her temple and start dragging her towards a fallen tree a few feet away. “This way’s better,” I tell her quietly. 

We walk, a tangle of happy, sweaty limbs, out onto the fallen tree I’ve used just the same since I was young. Hands clasped between us, I lead Alice out along the slowly rotting trunk, until we’re hovering a few feet into the spring. The water underneath us is still as a sheet of glass -- but it won’t be for long. 

I take a deep breath, let go of Alice’s hand, and only let myself dwell on the water quality for a split second before jumping right in, like I used to do so carelessly. It’s been years since I’ve come down here to swim -- and I’m a couple of feet taller to boot -- so my feet hit the rock bottom only a split second after my head disappears under the surface. The water is warmer than the bath, as clean and sweet it ever was. I push against the rocks below me and rise to the surface to find Alice there, laughing in delight.  
  
The grin on my face hurts my cheeks it’s so wide. I can’t help the excited holler that escapes me. I can’t help but shake my head like a wet dog, all in hopes to hear her laugh again.  
  
When we both finally settle, I encourage Alice to follow in after me. “Come on,” I say, “you gotta jump.” 

  
“I know!” She huffs -- still grinning -- and waves me off. 

Alice moves to jump into the water. She gets half-crouched, folds herself in the direction of the water, and then hesitates. She tries again with the same results. 

I move closer, until I’m close enough to grab on to Alice and pull her in if I wanted. It’s shallower here. I can stand up no problem, but I’m not sure if Alice will be able to do the same. _ Maybe that’s what's got her nervous, _I think. I reach out my arms again, and test my theory by promising to catch her no matter what.

It works.  
  
Finally, she jumps.  
  
Just before Alice’s shoulders disappear under the water, my arms curl tight around her bare waist. Her hands land hard on my shoulders. Her feet squirm against my legs. 

Here we are again. Together. _Close._  
  
We haven’t spent more than twenty minutes apart from last night to now, but somehow it hasn’t been enough. I’m nowhere near satiated. I need contact. I need this. 

Her hands fly up to my head, making quick work of pushing all the wet, matted hair off my face. She keeps laughing and laughing, like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever done, and dear God it’s contagious. I start at it, too. 

Before I figure out what’s so funny, Alice’s mouth is hot on mine. She melts against my body, everywhere except for where her fingers have tangled themselves into my hair. I kiss her hard, and simple, and sturdy, like it’s the first time all over.  
  
I can feel her heart pounding hard against my chest, and every muscle in her back loosen when I spread my fingers out across it. Her legs hook over my hips and I work us both over towards the easternmost side of the spring, where there’s a rock that pushes into the water like a jagged, natural sort of ledge. I set her down there, but Alice doesn’t let go. She tightens her legs around me, effectively locking me in place.

Alice pulls back, thirsty for air. I lean my forehead against hers, eyes open wide to make out all the details of her flushed face against the darkness. She tangles her fingers into my hair. I can feel her curling a piece around her finger, again and again and again. It’s so soothing, I might just fall asleep here in the water. 

While Alice works magic with my hair, I rub my thumb back and forth over the spot where it rests on her ribs. This spot was peaceful before, but it’s fucking heavenly now. 

“Well this is nice,” she says, maybe the biggest understatement I’ve heard from her yet. 

I chuckle, the airy sound betraying how breathless I am. “Guess you’re not missin’ dinner so much, huh?” I ask.  
  
Alice’s teeth sink into her bottom lip, like she’s trying to contain the ridiculous smile on her face. I don’t see the point, really. It’s bigger than her face. There’s no missing that smile. “Not so much,” she agrees.

She settles into my arms, two wet, pruney hands cradling my face. Alice’s bug eyes almost glow in the dark, just enough to overtake the rest of her features when she’s this up close. Alice leans closer, until our foreheads our touching. She doesn’t close her eyes. She doesn’t even blink. She just watches, and breathes, and watches some more.  
  
I watch her, too.  
  
Alice shifts to press another kiss to my parted lips. 

“Can I tell you something strange?” She whispers, her thumb brushing across my cheek. 

“Anythin’ at all.”  
  
Alice shifts closer, and closer still, until her arms are wrapped around my neck. “I think I knew you were coming.”  
  
Her forewarning was right -- this is _ strange. _

“What do you mean?” I ask.  
  
“I just did,” Alice mutters. “Maybe I didn’t know it’d be you exactly, but -- I knew there was something for me here. I just knew,” she says. “I had this feeling deep in my gut that this -- I don’t know -- that this place was where I had to be.”  
  
I bring one hand up to absently play with her hair as she speaks. 

“And I was so anxious to get here,” Alice tells me, her voice weighted with something serious. “But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe it felt like anxious, but it was actually excited, you know? Maybe part of me knew that --” she laughs again. I think it’s a nervous tick. “-- knew that you’d be here.” 

“You tryin’ to tell me you’re psychic?” I jokingly ask, lightening her revelation with a little humour. 

Totally straight faced, she answers, “maybe.” 

_ “Really?” _  
  
Alice nods conspiratorially. “Sure,” she says, stifling a smile. “Stuff like that -- weird coincidences -- keep happening my whole life. Like, the other night -- before the roof caved in -- I was fast asleep, dreaming that I was out in one of your fields, and it was _ pouring rain _ . And I had that same dream for _ weeks _ before showing up here. My family said it was nerves, but I just knew something was going to happen --” 

“Well that makes sense,” I answer plainly, unable to hide my delighted smile. “You were worried about the weather for your photoshoot, which you were right to be.” _ It’s fun playing skeptic _. 

“I wasn’t dreaming of any old field. I was dreaming of _ this place _ before I saw it,” Alice says.  
  
_ It’s hard to tell if she’s joking or not. _“You saw pictures,” I suggest.

Alice shakes her head, the look on her face stuck growing less and humoured, more intense. “I’m talking months in advance! Before I ever saw any pictures. And even if I did see a picture or two, how’d I know it was going to rain?” She argues.  
  
“Intuition,” I suggest. “ _ The weather forecast _ .”  
  
“Was it forecasting rain?”  
  
When I don’t answer immediately, Alice keeps speaking. “When we got here, you told me--”  
  
I find my voice. “-- We were smack dab in the middle of a drought.” 

Alice nods. “And?”  
  
“And it’s rained every day since.” 

“_ Psychic _ .” She shoots back, victorious.  
  
“Others’d call that bad luck,” I mutter in reply, still stuck in the role of devil’s advocate. Truthfully, I don’t disbelieve Alice. Since she’s shown up, it’s been coincidence after coincidence, to the point where maybe I should be a little spooked. 

“But I saw you, too,” Alice says. “How can that be bad luck?” Her words are so wonderful, so warm against my face, that I wonder if I’ve fallen into a figment of my imagination. 

I kiss her again, so fast and desperate it catches the _ psychic _ by surprise. Alice wraps her arms around my neck again, and her legs tighten around my waist. _ She’s real -- so fucking real _. I sink us both further into the water, until the choppy ends of her short hair are submerged. Alice laughs against my mouth and the sound fills me with warm, bubbling joy. 

When we finally break, I can’t clear the smile off my face. I don’t know the last time I smiled so much. Not since my dad died, at least. Not since I took over. Maybe since Maria, or that summer Rosalie and Em spent living here. I haven’t been happy -- not genuinely, truly so -- for so long it feels unfamiliar._ It feels brand new. _

“I think you’re right,” I tell her, only pulling my mouth off hers to speak in broken intervals. “I think you might be magic.”  
  
“You believe me?” Alice asks with a laugh, her fingers tightening in my hair.  
  
I nod my head firmly, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear. “You _ must _ be. It all makes sense now.” 

“What all makes sense?” Alice asks. 

“You,” I say. “I’ve been tryin’ to figure you out for days now -- tryin’ to figure out how you found me out here, in the middle of nowhere. It all felt too good to be true.” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Alice says. Her smile falls into something far too humble. She goes quiet -- very quiet -- and brings her hands forward to cradle my face. “There’s got to be some kind of _ reasonable explanation _.” 

“Well I think you’ve figured it out,” I agree, the muscles in my face tired from all this smiling. As I speak, Alice’s thumb starts tracing along my bottom lip, like she’s drawing me out. _ Memorizing me. _I hold on a little tighter, keeping her flush against my chest as she does whatever she damn well pleases. 

“Now can I tell you somethin’ strange?” I ask.  
  
Alice nods, one hand sliding down to cradle the side of my face. “Anything at all,” she echoes, doling out more of that magic. 

“I’d give up everythin’ I know to know you.”  
  
“Oh,” she says flatly.  
  
_ Not the reaction I expected. _

“No,” she says, brows furrowed tightly. After a sharp inhale, she explains: “I don’t want you to do that.” I so desperately want to interrupt, but the gentle pressure of Alice’s hands against my face keeps me quiet. “You don’t have to give anything up, remember? That’s the whole point of this.”  
  
“I just think --”  
  
“We _ both _ have so much to be thankful for. You have this amazing life here, and I -- I have the same in New York, with my _ family _, and that’s --” 

“I’m not askin’ you to haul your whole life out here, but --”  
  
“No,” she says again, hands dropping from my face. “ You don’t understand. I’m giving you everything that I can. I told you what I wanted. Last night you said --”  
  
“I know,” I say. “I know. It’s just a lot harder than I thought it would be. One night is easy, I can handle -- I can -- I --I ** _know_ ** how to be that kind of guy, Alice. But this _ isn’t _ that. I can’t be that disconnected person you want and still let myself be so close to you. I feel like I know you. I feel like I’ve got you. But I don’t.” 

Alice sighs, tilting her head down until I can no longer see her eyes. She studies the water way too long, her little body tense in my arms. I expect her to push away, to try and leave, but she stays firmly planted in my arms. “I just -- I don’t think getting to know me is going to make that any easier.”  
  
I scoff. “You think we ain’t already fucked? If I told you right now this was all over, are you tellin’ me you’d be fine?”  
  
She shakes her head. “No, it wouldn’t,” Alice says, eyes filling with sadness. 

“You can’t be half way in, half way out.” I explain. “It just doesn’t work that way. And I -- I want to be in. I can be all in. I can find a way to make this work, you know? If you wanted me to try. But I -- for the love of God -- I can’t figure out what you want.” 

The contorted expression on her face screams _ neither do I _ , but instead, Alice chooses to say, “I know -- I’m sorry.”  
  
“What do you want?” I ask.  
  
“I want what you want,” she answers, catching me off guard. The air clears out of my lungs. Alice’s hands land on my shoulders for a split second, then fly back up to my face. “I’m trying my best,” Alice tells me heartily. “I really am. Being here in general is a lot for me, so you are -- I mean -- as much as I joke, I am totally not prepared for any of this. I just need you to be patient with me.”  
  
I melt under her touch. The tension building in my back and shoulders releases, and my arms tighten their way around Alice’s waist. “I can be patient,” I say. “I can do that.” It’s a small ask. So long as I can know that Alice wants to untangle this mess we’ve made -- to figure out a way forward together, somehow -- I can be patient as a rock.   
  
“Then I can try to--”  
  
_ What the fuck? _  
  
Alice’s nails dig into my skin, her warm, wet body desperately pressed against against mine. “What was that?” She demands, voice ripe with fear.  
  
_ Gunshot. _

_ That was a gunshot. _ _  
_ _  
_ “Alice, get dressed.” _  
_  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WHAT WAs THAT?! 
> 
> AM I TAKIN A HARD RIGHT TURN????
> 
> AM I ???
> 
> Idk guys guess you gotta wait and see ! 
> 
> ALSO: please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you like, what you think could be improved upon, where you think the story is going, etc! It's your involvement that keeps me going / interested in writing this fic, so if you want more (or want something new!!!!) let me know!
> 
> For more Golden Hour fun, check out twiwrite.tumblr.com!


	16. Ecotone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: animal death/death, blood, gun mention / violence, gratuitous language, panic.

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN  
**

* * *

_An awful noise filled the air,  
I heard a scream in the woods somewhere.  
  
(In the Woods Somewhere, Hozier) _

* * *

_FRIDAY_   
**ALICE **

Two shots. 

One explodes thirty seconds after the other, like an aftershock. 

The sound is far away, but my ears still ring. Everything else fades away. Everything except the ringing and the stomach-clenching knowledge that something is very, abundantly wrong. 

Seconds of nothing pass me by. 

“Alice? You okay?_” _Jasper’s voice works through the fog that shrouds me. His hands cradle the back of my head, and he turns me to look at him, eyes wide and serious and glossy with fear._ “Alice, look at me_— _are_ _you okay?_ It takes awhile for me to process his words, but once I do, I struggle to find my voice. All I can do is stare at that awful look on his face, nod, and try hard to make sense of my present reality.

_"We have to go,” _he says. 

I’m focused on a thousand possible explanations.

_There’s a wild animal. _

_An intruder. _

_Holy shit -- James. What if it’s James? What if he stuck around, and found a gun, and --_

Jasper moves me off his lap, like I’m a doll, or a corpse, and is out of the water before I find my own feet below me. 

I stand there in the water — barely even breathing — until Jasper shouts my name at me again. The bark of his voice startles me into action, and within a second I’m forcing myself onto land with a clawing sort of desperation. 

My entire body is shaking. Fingers to toes.

Am I cold? 

It’s not cold. _I’m not cold. _

Jasper calls me. I look up just in time to catch my boots, which he throws to me one after the other. 

I only catch one. 

“C’mon. Get dressed. We gotta go.” 

I nod my head, and lurch forward to collect the fumbled boot. After that — jeans. Shirt. Socks. 

Socks are hard. 

I can’t find them in the dark. 

I get down close to the ground and start to scan, hands furiously patting the grass. I feel ridiculous — and nauseous — crawling around on my hands and knees, but at least down here I don’t shake so hard. 

My hand lands on something small and soft. _Thank God! A sock! Only one, but still —_ relief pours down my face in sweat. _Maybe it’s just water._ I curl it into my hand and keep searching, squinting against the darkness to find another tiny sock against the messy, uneven landscape. 

_Why did I do this?_

_Why did I drag us both into the water?_

_Why did I take Bella’s advice so fucking literally? Jump in with both feet. Ha. I’m so fucking smart, aren’t I?_

“Alice!” Jasper yelps, spotting me folded up on the ground. 

“I can’t find my sock!” I whine in reply.

“Leave it — _come on_.” 

_He’s right. This is crazy. _ I force myself back into a standing position._ It’s okay. One sock is okay. _

I find that Jasper has already slipped back into his jeans. He’s already making quick work of his t-shirt — like it’s easy, like nothing is wrong. I try hard to follow in his lead, but the adrenaline pounding through my veins has me dropping my stuff back on the ground, each time growing more frantic. 

Jasper slips on his last boot. I’m still trying to find the bottom of my shirt. 

He straightens out, fully dressed, and turns to walk in the direction we came without any hint of where he’s going, or whether he’s coming back. 

I’ve been left to fumble in the dark. 

Our sanctuary sits undisturbed in front of me — impossible, considering my heart is beating so uncomfortably hard in my chest. The water should be shaking, like me. Rattled. It’s not. It is still. Peaceful. Welcoming. 

If I went back in — If I just kept my head under the water, I’d be safe. Realistically, they’d never find me. I’d be lost — lost to time, and lost to the never-ending darkness that lies beneath the moonlit surface. 

The thought hits me hard in the gut. 

_Two of a kind, my mother and I. _

I breathe through the fear that rattles me. I breathe, and breathe, and breathe, until I’m settled enough to manage my damp and dirty clothes. Then I dress myself. 

Shirt. Jeans. One sock. Boots.

Jasper returns with a frightening kind of urgency to his step, and a cellphone glowing in his hands. He brings it to his ear and stops in place, every part of him stilled to wait for an answer. When nothing happens, Jasper calls again. A third call unanswered leaves him frantic. 

_“Jesus fucking fuck,”_ he says, each word punctuated with deep-rooted frustration. The loudness of it makes me jump, makes me fumble my shirt yet again. “Answer your Goddamn phone!” He shouts, before bringing the thing back to his ear. Seconds pass and no one answers, he pulls the phone back, and I’m surprised to see that Jasper refrains from crushing it in his hand. 

I have no idea what’s going on, but at least now I’m ready to go wherever he needs. I breathe out a loud, long-held breath and wait for Jasper to tell me what’s next. But he doesn’t. His face stays buried in his phone, fingers frantically typing out a message. 

So I head for him instead — quick, like a moth drawn to a flame — and I ask, _“what’s going on?”_

Jasper’s attention is miles away, but the moment I flick onto his radar, all of him focuses back on me. Without speaking a word, Jasper tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans and stalks in my direction, arms outstretched. “Hey,” he says, hands landing on either side of my face. “It’s okay.” They don’t so much as hover there before moving down to my shoulders, then my elbows, then my sides, like he’s checking to make sure I’m all in one piece. I step into Jasper’s strange, flustered embrace, and my simple acknowledgement brings his hands right back up to my cheeks, where he started. This time, his touch is practiced — gentle, like he’s got all the time in the world. “_Everything’s okay_.” 

I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince — I don’t believe a word of it. The panic held in his voice only seconds ago is still palpable in the air. Nothing is _okay_. 

I shake my head, and Jasper’s grip tightens, just slightly. He tilts my face up, so I’m forced to stare into his wide-open eyes. “You gotta trust me right now, Alice, can you do that?” His voice aims to soothe, but still, the urgency of it all keeps me on edge. “There’s nothing to worry about.” 

My hands fly up to cover his. I nod my head in response, too overwhelmed to come up with much else, but my feeble attempt seems enough. 

Jasper leans down towards me, until he’s close enough to press his lips to the spot of worry between my eyebrows. “Okay,” he whispers, barely audible. “Good.” Jasper twists one hand around to hold on to mine, and starts pulling me away from our safe place. “Come with me.” 

Ginger is waiting patiently for us, just passed a low hanging arch of leaves. The branch she was once attached to has snapped. More importantly, Alonso is gone.

“Jasper — ” I say, finding my voice again. When he doesn’t stop walking, I give his hand a good, hard tug. Questions start pouring out of me all at once. “What’s going on?” I ask, tugging again. “Where’s Alonso?” Fear squeezes my throat, leaving my words pathetic and small. _“What happened?”_

Jasper doesn’t stop walking. He parades me towards Ginger, only eyeing me in acknowledgement for one brief second. “I don’t know yet,” he answers hurriedly, too focused on a million moving parts. Then: “he probably just spooked. I gotta take you over to Charlotte’s. She’ll know where Peter is, and then I can go —” 

His plan clicks into place.

I yank my hand free. “Wait, wait — what?”

_“What?”_ Jasper asks.

“_Are you kidding?_” I ask, firmly planting myself into the soft dirt. 

His patient expression falls into confusion. “No,” he flatly says, reaching to take my hand again. 

“No!” I answer, tugging my hand back out of his grip. My meek show of protest plants a crease between his brows. “Jasper, no! That’s _ridiculous_.” 

_“Well I’m not going to leave you in the fucking woods,”_ he snaps, getting loud. 

“No!” I say again, matching his volume. “No — I mean — _no_, you shouldn’t go out there alone. That was a gunshot! Neither of us should be _out in the fucking woods_. We should both go somewhere safe and _call the police_.”

The noise Jasper makes is halfway between a grunt and a laugh, and filled with desperation. “_Look_,” He says, his panicked words _dripping_ in condescension. “That’s not how shit works here.” 

I frown at him. Hard. 

Jasper sighs in response, and softens, just slightly. “I mean -- I just mean that it’s probably nothin’ — like a critter or some shit, _okay? _People shoot guns out here for any fuckin’ thing. No reason to involve the cops.” 

“Then let me go with you,” I demand. 

“No.” 

_“Why not?”_

“Because it’s still a _gun_, Alice,” he desperately explains. “Because Peter’s not answerin’ his phone, so I got no idea what we’re dealin’ with here. I can’t bring you into _that_. That’d be stupid, Alice. It wouldn’t be safe. _You can’t come with me.” _

He means it. He’s going to leave me somewhere out here, _without him_.

And like I’m six, or seven, or nine, or fourteen all over again, long bedded insecurities surface with a vengeance. Angry tears prick at my eyes. My muscles go tense. Panic rises hot and ugly like vomit in my throat. It spills out of my mouth before I can stop it, before I can dilute my desperation. _“You’re not leaving me,” _I whimper.

Jasper’s posture shifts straight. His brows furrow deeper. I see him break in real time.

“Please don’t,” I insist, hands reaching up to grab hold of Jasper’s damp shirt. “Just _don’t_—” 

“I’m not leaving you _alone_,” he starts. 

My panic grows bigger when I realize what he’s trying to say. I shake my head furiously. “No. It’s not -- you can’t -- just --” I can’t find my words. 

He sighs, hands coming to curl around my upper arms. “ -- It’s okay.” I still don’t believe him. This time less than before. “Peter and Charlotte’s house is safe, alright? And closer than mine.” When I don’t calm, Jasper tries harder. “Besides — she’s the toughest one out here. Nothin’ creepin’ out in the dark is gonna dare go up against her.” 

_He doesn’t get it. _

_He’s not hearing me. _

“I don’t care _what_ she is, please. Just — let me stay with you. I want to stay with _you. _**_Please._**_” _

“Jesus, Alice, I don’t have the time for this. I have to go. _We have to go_.” 

I shake my head again, and send one quick look in Ginger’s direction, before saying, “Only if I can stay with you.” _I don’t feel safe anywhere else. I won’t be okay anywhere else. _

_“Alice,” _he says my name again, sternly this time, and he drops his hands as if I’d burned him. 

I cringe at the trill of anger in his voice, until I realize that it isn’t anger. It’s fear. He’s afraid. For me, for him, for us, I don’t know. 

_“I know,”_ I say miserably. 

I feel pathetic. I am pathetic. Why can’t I do what I’m supposed to? Why can’t I go where I need to go? Jasper’s not leaving me._ He’s not going anywhere — he’s not even leaving his own property, far as I know. _No matter how thoroughly I work to remind myself of the truth, my panicked brain refuses to listen. _I go where he goes. I go where he goes. I go where he goes. _

I look up at Jasper, hoping he might’ve changed his mind in a split second, and only then do I realize how wet my eyes are. I can barely see him. 

Jasper sighs out, and raises one hand up to my cheek. He watches me, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long time, and his face fills more completely with sympathy. Jasper’s thumb brushes back and forth across my cheek. He puts on a smile — born straight out of uncertainty — and finally breaks eye contact, only to look out into the dark, suspiciously still night. When Jasper looks back at me, there’s nothing but concern left. Fear is gone. 

He nods his head at me. “Okay,” he says softly. “_Okay._” 

I want to melt into his protective grip, but before my forehead can collide with his chest, Jasper stops me. He moves me back until he can stare straight into my face, and says, “I swear on my life, Alice, you gotta listen to me. _Okay?_ Whatever I say from this point on, you do. If we get out there, and I tell you to turn around, you turn around.” 

I nod my head fervently, wiping away any traces of panic still staining my cheeks. 

Jasper nods along with me. “Alright.”

One solid second later, his hands are on my waist, and I’m being hoisted up towards Ginger’s saddle. I yelp in surprise, despite seeing him coming, and fumble my way up onto the horse. Once I’m up in the saddle and relatively balanced, Jasper leaves my side.

He disappears behind my back, but I can hear him digging through the bag hanging off the saddle. I twist to see what he's doing. 

Jasper pulls out something small.

I squint my eyes to see it better.

My breath catches in time with Jasper clicking something into place.

“_Whatareyoudoingwiththat_?” I ask, the words coming out in a jumbled, nervous tangle.

A gun_shot_ is a lot more theoretical than an actual, real life gun. 

“Nothin’ yet,” he says, before tucking the weapon into his belt. 

Ginger springs to life underneath us.

We ride through darkness for what feels like too long. Around us is nothing but ground, and night, and stillness. Even the cicadas have silenced. There is no chaos to be found, no Hell to jump into. We ride and search, and Jasper barely breathes the whole time. Neither do I. 

Eventually, I start to recognize our surroundings. We’re nearing the same grassy area we crossed hours ago, on our horseback tour of the ranch. We’re not too far from the cattle — I know that there’s a little road, over off to the right, that’ll lead right into the pastures. Jasper doesn’t go in that direction. He keeps to the left, up over an incline. 

Suddenly, we’re racing forward. We tumble too fast down the hill, and I knock into the saddle, and his arms, and his chest, and _myself_ in a desperate attempt to keep from catapulting straight into the ground. 

But then I see what he sees — lights. Headlights, beaming strong off a parked truck. We have a destination. 

With something to focus on, I find my balance, and settle back into the hard contours of Jasper’s chest. It feels so safe right here, tight up against him, but I know that he’s riding me straight into danger. 

I _insisted_ that he did. 

We get close enough that Jasper is forced to slow down, and that’s when the scene before us really explodes into life. 

There are people there. Two of them. I see that the people are moving. Talking. The truck’s engine is rattling. There’s a dog barrelling towards us. Another horse is standing still as a statue in the distance. The people are holding something. Guns. Big, long ones. Rifles, or shotguns. I don’t know the difference. 

That’s enough to send me right back into panic. 

Jasper slows us to a stop behind the unmanned truck, using it like some kind of shield, I think, to keep me from seeing what’s going on right past it. I can’t even see the men from here, through both sets of windows. 

The dog reaches us before Jasper can ease out of the saddle. Its bark is desperately loud, its tail tucked between its hind legs. It starts running circles around Ginger, and then does the same with Jasper, once he’s back on the ground. 

Jasper makes a weird kind of noise at the animal, and its bark curls into a heartbreaking whimper. It lies down at his feet — ears back, tail down — and Jasper crouches down to his level, to comfort him. “_Hey boy_,” I hear, “ ’s okay.” Jasper goes to pat the top of his head, but his movements go from soft to stiff instantly. He takes the dog’s face in his hands. Drops them fast. “Ah — _Jesus fucking Christ.” _

He must see something I can’t, because that’s when Jasper gets _angry_. His head turns too fast, eyes scanning wildly around the field. His hands reach back to check for the gun he’s got tucked in his belt. 

I lean forward to try and see, holding on to the horn of the saddle for dear life. “What? _What is it?” _

Jasper stands. “_Stay there_,” he instructs me, voice low. When I open my mouth to complain, he quickly shuts me up. “Remember what I said. If I say go —” 

I nod my head, stomach dropping right out of my ass. “I go.” 

Jasper nods in agreement, and makes sure Ginger’s reins are tight in my hands before turning to stalk towards the others. The dog — still struggling to hold in nervous yelps — leads his way. 

I scan the area frantically for signs of danger, but it’s hard to see much sequestered behind the truck. 

_If I could just peek around the front of the cab, maybe I’d be able to see what’s going on._

_Besides, _I convince myself,_ it’d be safer there. I know what Jasper said, but I’m far more skilled in a car than I am on a horse. Licensed or not, I could drive away quick. And the keys are right there, in the ignition._

I hit the ground ungracefully, with the distance from stirrup to ground far taller than I expected. Ginger doesn’t so much as chuff in response to my dismount — she doesn’t even budge when I start sneaking towards the truck. 

Each step draws my heart higher in my chest. Beat after beat, it squeezes up -- into my throat, then into my mouth — threatening to spill out onto the ground any second. I get to the side mirror and cling to it for dear life, trying to settle before I choke, or vomit, or both.

I’m nervous to look forward. Downright fucking terrified to leave my perfectly safe, perfectly ignorant spot.

I keep telling myself that _everything’s fine_ — that Jasper wouldn’t bring me somewhere he truly thought was unsafe — but even my best logic is fallible. Deep down, I know this isn’t fine. None of it is. I can feel _dread_ in the air, heavier and more palpable than the fucking humidity, and it fills me with every breath I take, telling me that safe or not, something here is very wrong.

That scared little voice in my head is louder than ever.

_Get in the truck_, it says. _What the fuck are you doing? Get in the truck. Lock the doors. Stay away. Dear fucking God — listen for once. Get in the truck! _

Someone laughs out there. 

My heart falls back into my chest. I silence the voice long enough to let my curiosity win. 

I uncurl from the truck’s mirror and take those few final steps forward. 

Jasper isn’t too far away. Maybe twenty feet. I make him out first -- tall, and still, and topped with the same hat he always wears, day or night. The other two men look familiar from behind. After a good hard second of observation, I’m certain one’s Peter. This must be his truck, too. The other works here. A blond kid, maybe my age, with blue eyes and childlike features. I recognize him from our group dinner the first night. I think the guys called him something weird. _Newt, maybe?_ He seems the most frantic of them all. He’s talking, hands waving about, with his gun slung over his back. 

I look just in time to spot Jasper tucking his gun in the back of his belt. He reaches out for the blond and pats his shoulder. Jasper plays nice. He keeps calm. The kid settles down. So do I. 

Seconds keep ticking by, and all the men do is stand there and talk, occasionally pointing towards something in the deep darkness. Everyone is calm. Everything is okay, I think. 

Whatever happened, we’re passed the point of action. 

The kid nods his head at Jasper, turns, and goes off to mount the other horse standing nearby. 

Peter lights a cigarette. His whole self relaxes, hat to boot, gone from stiff rod back to his limber self. He laughs -- again -- the same boisterous sound that initially drew me forward. 

That’s confirmation enough for me. _Everything is safe. _

I stay put long enough to watch the kid ride off in the direction we came, but watching from a distance is no longer satisfying my curiosity. I need to get closer. 

Neither man notices as I approach the action. They stand grumbling at each other, hands motioning towards the ground, then the horizon, then the ground again. I try to be quiet, to catch an honest glimpse into their conversation before I’m noticed.

“I swear, Whit, I was up by the park yesterday and the fence was _fine_,” Peter sighs out.

“Then it must’ve been the storm last night,” Jasper grumbles.

“Fuck, man, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Well, it must’ve been.” After a pregnant pause, he adds: “I just hope the kid can find Alonso before Seth realizes he’s run off.” 

Peter huffs a sad laugh and nods his head. “_Fuck_,” he says again, nudging something with his boot. 

The undeniable, unforgivable, stomach-churning scent of blood and manure and _decay — _hits me like a fucking brick. 

My eyes drift down to the ground. 

My stomach sinks. 

_“Oh, God.” _

Only after I speak do I think to muffle the sound with a hand over my mouth.

Within a second, Jasper shifts into my line of view. He stomps towards me with a worried scowl on his face. “You’re a real shit listener, you know?” Jasper says, hands landing on my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be over here.” 

I try to look past him, morbid curiosity getting the best of me. “What happened?” I ask, craning my head to try and see that mangled pile of _something_ on the ground. 

“You got no reason to see this, darlin’, come on,” Jasper replies, rather urgently. He tries to turn me around, but I slip out from under his heavy hands. He’s bigger than me, but I’m faster — more nimble on my feet. I’m halfway to Peter before Jasper registers I’m gone.

“What happened?” I ask, this time my question is directed at Peter. 

Peter forces a smile at me, and then his eyes drift to the spot above my head. Jasper must be there, hovering behind me. “Told you she wouldn’t stay still,” Peter says. 

Jasper begins to grumble a reply from his spot playing shadow, but I don’t hear it — 

I’ve seen dead animals before. 

Roadkill, mostly. Little things.

This is different.

This is a brutal, and ravenous. A perfectly natural kind of death. The _kill or be killed_ kind — the _eat or be eaten_. 

There, decorating the ground, as real as the hands covering my mouth, are the little, unmoving bodies of two lambs. I don’t _want_ to look closer, but I do. I need to look — _I can’t look away_ — and so their lifeless, mangled, red-stained little bodies burn permanent scars in my memory. 

The sight brings unwitting tears to my eyes.

Jasper’s hands curl around my shoulders. He squeezes me tight. 

“How —?” My voice breaks over the word. 

Peter sighs. He sinks into himself, until he seems almost my height. I turn to find him staring at the disturbing scene, wearing a scowl where his smile should be. “We must have a down in the fence somewhere,” he tells me. “Newton found a whole pack of coyotes makin’ a buffet of our sheep and uh, he did what he had to do. I’m guessin’ they came down from the park.” 

That’s when I notice there’s something else out there, too. Another body, nestled deep in the grass. _The predator_, I assume. It’s bigger than the lambs, but not by much, and covered in salt-and-pepper fur. _Unlike_ the lambs, the coyote’s body is completely in tact. From this distance, it could easily be mistaken for _sleeping_. But it’s not breathing. It’s not moving. It’s just dead. Curled, I expect, into the spot where a bullet met its defenceless little body. 

“We’re awful lucky it was only sheep,” Peter tells me. 

Jasper scoffs at that. “Yeah, but shit’s still shit.” 

Peter hums his approval.  
  
I still can’t look away.

The longer I stand there, taking in the brutality of it all, the stench of decay digs deeper into me. It fills me with sadness. It reminds me that _drawn blood is_ _drawn blood_. Across species, despite necessity, or reason -- it’s all the same. It’s loss. It’s _death_, threatening as ever. 

Jasper was right.

_I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see this.  
  
_I want nothing to do with this. I’ve seen enough death for one lifetime. I know enough pain. 

But I’m here. Bombarded by their awful conversation.

“He scared ‘em off pretty good, but far as I know they could be ‘round the corner. Looked like a pair and their pups. Mox got a good chunk outta one, though — just before it ran off.” Peter reaches down and pats the dog. I glance in their direction, hoping for a quick reprieve, but find the dog sitting with its muzzle dripping blood. Nausea rips through me. 

And again, like a dripping tap, I think: _I don’t want to be here. _

Ever since I got to this place, I’ve been pushing, and pushing, and pushing, to do and to be so much more than I’m capable of. I push myself just to prove -- to prove _nothing_, really, other than my own stubbornness. 

And for what?  A suitcase full of muddy clothes? Pruney hands? _For this? To prove I have no idea what I'm doing, once and for all?_

“So there’s probably another body out there somewhere,” Jasper finishes. “Or there will be by mornin’.” 

“Yeah -- ‘n Newt said somethin’ ‘bout a pups, so I’m thinkin’ we got another two at least to keep an eye on. Gonna need to put traps along the perimeter, then I’d guess throughout the wooded areas. Get ‘em everywhere, really. Least then we can skin the fuckers for what they’re worth.” 

_I’m going to be sick.  
  
I need to leave.  
  
I need to go. Now._

I make a hard turn, clipping Jasper’s side as I try to run away from the mental image Peter’s planted in my head. He says something to me, I think. Maybe to Peter. I don’t listen. I keep walking back towards the truck, desperate for fresh air, for ground that isn’t drowning in blood. 

Only when I’m safe by the truck do I click back into the conversation roaring on behind me. 

“I’m sorry, man -- I --” 

“Take care of it.”

“Yeah, of course, I --”

_“Fucking take care of it!” _

Everything goes quiet. The world spins around me, black sky melting into black ground, until Jasper’s big, warm hands land on my shoulders. Then it slows. His thumbs press hard into my shoulder blades. His voice presses hard into the rest of me. “Hey -- you okay?” 

I nod my head, and force a breath. “Yeah,” I say, hands leaving the truck’s frame to brush the wet out from under my eyes. “Yeah. Just -- that was -- ”

“_Let’s go home_,” he says, and it’s exactly what I need to hear. So exact that I struggle to keep from crumpling, right then and there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the real world, sweet Alice. We take dog eat dog real serious around here. 
> 
> 17 coming at you soon.


End file.
